


And Tomorrow Will Be Ours

by MrsBlue8



Category: Football RPF
Genre: 30 Days of Writing, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Flashbacks, M/M, Minor Character Death, NaNoWriMo, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Spain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-04-29 09:55:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 62,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5123324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsBlue8/pseuds/MrsBlue8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apocalypses, zombies, cannibals - Fernando's pretty certain he can deal with all that. As long as Xabi is there to save him from it, of course. But having to deal with an aggravating and provocative ex-boyfriend at the same time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01/11/2015

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> This is going to be my NaNoWriMo challenge for 2015. I have the outline of my plot sorted but most of the content in each individual chapter will be down to what I write on the day, so we'll see where the story takes us! I wanted to make a couple of notes:
> 
> 1) I don't claim to know whether the infection can scientifically happen. I highly doubt it (and that's probably a good thing!) but I've tried to make it as realistic as possible and just gone with it. 
> 
> 2) Since I haven't written any of this in advance (that's part of the challenge), I've haven't fully decided on what other characters or warnings will/may be introduced so more tags will be added as the story progresses. 
> 
> 3) The nature of the challenge means that the writing won't be perfect. I'll be having to write quickly to bang out a chapter a day so there may be mistakes. I'll be editing once the challenge has finished. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy 30 days of Sernando!

It was the three hundredth day.

Precisely three hundred – Fernando had just scribbled it down in his journal. Afterwards, he sat and nibbled on the end of his pencil for a while, just looking at the fat number etched in to the paper. Three hundred. An odd sensation would bubble inside Fernando whenever it happened to be a monumental date and, as a man that trusted his instincts, he believed it meant that something monumental was about to occur that day. Xabi would roll his eyes whenever Fernando mentioned it, claiming that nothing monumental had occurred in the world since the infection and nothing monumental was ever likely to occur again. But it would take more than a scoff to deter Fernando from what he believed in.

And he believed that three hundred was going to be monumental.

Once several, long minutes had passed, he settled for writing; _I thought I saw my first Creaker last night. Xabi said it was likely just a fox, though. And that it was probably attracted to the leftover rabbit I threw out last night. He said I should be more careful otherwise an actual Creaker_ would _come and then we’d be in real trouble_.

He fumbled for something more personal – it was meant to be a journal, after all – but gave up and slipped the tattered book underneath the folds of his mattress.

Outside his bedroom, Xabi was drying out the logs from the rain that had hit last night. “Do you need any help?” It was a stupid question, really. Xabi never needed Fernando’s help. He was the qualified nurse with a mind packed full of medical and scientific knowledge. Fernando was just the elementary school teacher.

“No.” Came the expected answer. “But, I could do with a new water sample. I’ll have breakfast ready for when you get back.”

“Alright.” Fernando collected the bucket and gardening gloves that were left near the front door and clambered down the ladder until his boots hit dew-covered grass.

Fernando hadn’t realised quite how lucky he was when he first stumbled upon the treehouse. He’d fled Madrid before the infection had even begun – instead escaping a bruised and broken relationship and overwhelming career – and found himself in the rural plains of Spain. The size and grandeur of the treehouse revealed that it had once been a country home for wealthy socialites when they wanted a break from the capital. Fernando had hid himself in the wooden structure for almost four months but never settled, waiting for the owners to arrive and kick him out for trespassing. When there was no arrival, he came to the conclusion that it had been abandoned and began to make it his own.

Of course, he’d had no idea that the infection had hit and that whoever owned the treehouse had probably died or Turned. He didn’t know any of that until he’d found Xabi.

The original grandeur had disappeared over time; Xabi and he had thrown out most of the unnecessary furniture and decoration and since neither of them could get hold of any glazing, the wood was beginning to rot in some places. But it had their two bedrooms, a living space, a study room for Xabi and, most importantly, the promise of safety. Well, Xabi had told him that nowhere could guarantee safety – not anymore – but a house high in the trees was the closest you could get. Creakers never seemed to venture this far out of the city and if they did, Fernando was pretty certain they couldn’t climb ladders. Even if he’d never seen one before.

And then there was the river. A constant, flowing supply of water. Even though it was water that had started this mess in the first place, it didn’t alter the fact that they still needed it to survive and it conveniently sat less than a mile away. South along the forest and over the railway tracks. Since the journey was pleasant and collecting water samples was one of the only tasks Xabi entrusted in Fernando, he took it at every opportunity.

He reached the river and crouched down on the bank. His nose wrinkled ever so slightly at the green hue of contamination that discoloured the water – he never got used to the smell – but he pressed on, pulling on the gloves and filling the metal bucket. The contaminated water slugged around in the bucket, bubbling and foaming. It was painfully obvious that the water wasn’t safe for consumption and, not for the first time, Fernando wondered how this hadn’t been easily prevented.

The bucket had been slowly filling for close to five minutes when Fernando noticed the dead body.

It was a couple hundred metres down the bank and on the other side of the river. The distance made noticing any distinguishable features impossible but Fernando could see that the body was lying on its stomach, one arm outstretched and floating in the water. There was a lot of blood.

He considered the possibility that this was his first ever Creaker sighting but remembering the lessons that Xabi had given him, he realised it couldn’t be. Creakers were pale blue, their veins having filled with water, and exposed joints such as fingers and toes often fell off. The body still held a warm tan on their skin and Fernando was positive he could see five fingers still attached to the hand that lay flat on the water surface.The person had only recently died and not by the hands of a Creaker.

Unnerved and uncomfortable, Fernando collected up the bucket and made his way back to the treehouse with a mental note to warn Xabi about the body. The smell of blood and decay would eventually attract a Creaker – or a whole hoard of them – and then they’d both be in danger. But when Xabi simply took the bucket with a distracted ‘thanks’ and dismissed him from his study room, Fernando decided not to tell him at all.

He was going to dispose of the body himself. Xabi would never let him if he knew; his second favourite hobby after studying the infection was fretting over Fernando. But Fernando knew that he was capable of more than just fetching water. This was an apocalypse and he could damn well survive it.

Later that afternoon, Fernando told Xabi he was going to check on their vegetable patch. The vegetable patch had been his idea; they’d dug up the grass and soil and fenced off the patch with wire to protect it from foraging animals. Fernando collected the spade that they used to dig up the vegetables and made his way back to the river.

Dusk was beginning to fall when he arrived at the bank again. He made a few quick calculations in his head over how long it would be until sunset but those were cut short as soon as he chanced a glance down the river.

The body had moved.

 _The body had moved_. Fernando’s throat closed up in fear and he choked. The body was curled up in to a ball on the opposite bank and rocking from side to side. The blood was still there.

His brain sparked in to life and screamed at him to run and fetch Xabi. He could handle a dead body; he wasn’t sure he could handle a living one. With the exception of Xabi, Fernando hadn’t been in contact with another human being since he’d left Madrid. Xabi had told him horror stories about the survival groups that formed after the infection began and the murderous rampages they embarked on – maybe this person could kill both of them.

The thought seemed ridiculous as soon as it flicked through his mind. Whoever was on the riverbank was in no fit state to cause any serious harm and it was with that small comfort that Fernando began walking closer. He closed the distance between them with a hammering pulse and cold sweat breaking out over his skin until he stood directly opposite the shuddering figure. The spade was still in his hand – just as a precaution – and a small river still separated them.

“Hello?” Fernando’s could hear the panic in his own voice. “Hello?” The person – a man, he could now see – didn’t respond and remained curled up in his foetal position, hands clutching his wrists. Fernando tried again.

“Are you alright?” Again, there was no reaction and for a few, terrifying seconds, Fernando wondered whether the man had died and was Turning before his eyes. After all, Xabi had never described what a transformation looked like. But then, the man started rubbing his left arm with his right hand and his wrist became exposed.

And the shock that pummelled in to Fernando almost knocked him clean off his feet. The spade hit the soft bank with a thwack as it slipped from his fingers and various, conflicting emotions began to collide inside him.

Because Fernando recognised the tattoo that spiralled around his wrist; he would have been able to draw it in his sleep. And when the man finally lifted his face and a pair of dark, almond-shaped eyes met his, he took a physical step back. The eyes were worse than the tattoo – his head was suddenly flooded with suppressed memories of those eyes softening at him and snapping at him. Eyes that Fernando still dreamt about, ever since first catching sight of them.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck._

_Fernando scrabbled around his cluttered desk with desperate hands. Where the fuck was Elissa Malone’s butterfly cycle chart? He’d put it on his desk when the bell had rung, he was sure of it._

_He opened all his drawers hastily and clumsily, child progress reviews scattering to the floor. Elissa had spent ages on that chart, she’d been so proud of it and Fernand had gone and lost it. Brainless idiot. Why he’d considered teaching a suitable profession for someone as unorganised as him remained to be seen. He’d even promised her he’d pin it up on the wall. Idiot, idiot, idiot._

_"Excuse me?” Fernando glanced up to see someone stood at the door of the classroom, eyeing him a little warily. They were nice eyes, though. “Uh, yes?”_

_"You asked to meet.” When Fernando simply blinked at him, the man added; “You wanted to talk about Daniela?”_

_Oh, brilliant. A parent had caught him in the middle of a less than professional hunt for student work. “Of course. Please, come in.” He made a quick attempt at neatening up his desk and wiped his hands on his trousers, hoping that he looked professional, at the very least. The parent sat down in the chair that Fernando offered and waited cautiously for him to join. He brought out Daniela’s report from the student filing cabinet – he at least knew where that was – and took his seat at the desk, flicking through the file._

_"I’m sorry to have to ask you to come in. Your daughter-”_

_“Ni_ _ece.”_

_"I’m sorry?”_

_The man smiled. That was nice, too. “She’s my niece. My sister couldn’t make it.”_

_"Oh.” Fernando wasn’t sure why he was so caught off guard. “Well, your niece is a wonderful girl and very enthusiastic. She’ll throw herself in to anything. But she sometimes needs to focus more of that fire on learning.” He pulled out the report that the head teacher had given him and handed it to Daniela’s uncle. “She’s had a few scuffles with some of the other girls in class recently, and a couple of the boys. She’s been sent to the office twice this week.”_

_The man scanned the report he’d been given before raising an eyebrow. “Did she win?”_

_“Wh_ _at?” Fernando tried to hold back his shock._

_"Did she win?” The man repeated. “The fights, did she win?”_

_Fernando sat with his mouth open at the unprecedented question for several seconds before gathering himself. “It’s not good behaviour for someone so young to develop and I know that the passion in her can be converted in to her education, if she is given the correct support at home and at school.”_

_"Are you saying that my sister is doing something wrong at home?” The conversation was quickly spinning out of Fernando’s control._

_"No, not at all-” He began to splutter but was interrupted._

_"Then I don’t understand the problem?” The man wasn’t aggressive or angry. Just, stubborn. Fernando wished Daniela’s mother had come._

_“Please, Mr….Ramos?” He tried tentatively with Daniela’s surname. When he wasn’t corrected, he continued. “She’s fighting with other students. School is meant to be a safe environment, for her and other students. We can’t accept this behaviour in school.”_

_“What if she was just standing up for herself?” The man sounded defensive and Fernando was beginning to see where Daniela got her fire from. “There’s nothing in these reports about who initiated the fight.” “_

_"Daniela escalated them. And I just wanted confirmation that the family would cooperate in sorting this issue at her young age.”_

_The man still appeared unconvinced. “We don’t tell her to fight, if that’s what you’re saying.”_

_"I’m not saying that!” Fernando shouted, before realising his lack of professionalism. “I wanted to propose meeting on a weekly basis. So that we could discuss Daniela’s progress together and you – or her parents – can tell me if you’re not happy with anything. We just want to help her fulfil her potential, Mr. Ramos. That’s why we’re here.”_

_Once he’d been given the man’s reluctant agreement, Fernando began seeing Sergio – he discovered his name - each Thursday. And while Sergio had the habit of being incredibly frustrating, Fernando couldn’t pretend he didn’t look forward to seeing those eyes and that smile once a week. And he did begin to see the smile more, as Sergio began to open up. When Daniela’s behaviour took a turn for the better, he didn’t cancel the meetings. He didn’t want to stop hearing Sergio’s voice, even if the voice was sometimes aggravating and uncooperative._

_On one particular week, he’d called Sergio in and he’d appeared with an amused smile on his face. “You wanted to talk about Daniela?”_

_"That’s why we’re here.” Fernando answered, wondering if it would be far too weird to ask if they could start meeting in a restaurant, or a cinema._

_"Right.” Sergio didn’t sit down in his usual seat and instead, pulled one right next to Fernando. “That’s strange, because Daniela’s been off with chicken pox all week.”_

_“Oh.” Fernando flushed at Sergio's smirk and began fumbling around for an explanation. “Well, that’s true. But I thought it was important to get your perspective on her progress, how her behaviour has been at home compared to school, because we’ve seen a real improvement in the classroom-”_

_"Fernando.”_

_“Yes?”_

_“Do you want to get dinner sometime?”_


	2. 02/11/2015

Fernando responded as any self-respecting human would.

He ran.

And fetched Xabi. And hid inside the treehouse, listening to soft curses drift from the ground where Xabi was attempting to haul Sergio up the ladder single-handedly. Eventually, he was called down to help and reluctantly agreed once Xabi told him that Sergio had fallen unconscious.

They reached the top just as nightfall hit and Fernando was sent to retrieve the first-aid kit - of which they'd barely needed to use - while Xabi deposited Sergio in his bedroom. Somehow, the soft glow of the oil lamp that illuminated the bedroom made Sergio look worse than he had down on the riverbank. Fernando handed the first-aid kit over to Xabi with trembling fingers, his eyes scanning the dark blue and purple blemishes that littered Sergio's skin like ink and the matted blood caught in his hair and clothes.

For the first time ever, Fernando found that he was perfectly happy to be dismissed by Xabi. Unconscious or not, being in a room with Sergio made him feel suffocated in a way he hadn't since he'd escaped the confines of the city and their imploding relationship.

He went to his own room and brought out his journal, his hands itching with the need to write; _I thought he'd be dead, I was sure that he'd be dead, Xabi told me that everyone in the city would be dead and I didn't mean to find him, I didn't want to find him but I couldn't leave him, maybe I should have left him and let someone else find him._

But when his pencil hovered over the paper, he found that he couldn't put the words down and resorted to simply stating; _Monumental day._

Sleep didn't come easily that night. Maybe it didn't come at all - Fernando found he couldn't distinguish between dream and memory. Every thought was filled with Sergio and it frustrated Fernando to the point that he started pacing his room and banging his head on the wall. Xabi shouted through the treehouse for him to quit it and he gave up, collapsing back in to bed.

 _Fernando was almost certain that_  formaggio _meant cheese. Fairly certain, at least. But didn't_ cacio _mean cheese? He cursed his younger self for taking French at school and not Italian._

_"Sir?"_

_H_ _e was so engrossed in trying to translate the menu that Sergio had to give him a light nudge under the table with his foot to let him know that the waiter was asking for his order._

_"Huh?" He glanced around, flushing when he noticed that Sergio was stifling a laugh._

_"Your order, sir." The waiter repeated._

_"Oh." He scanned the menu, deciding to avoid all_ _mentions of_ formaggio _and_ cacio. _"The spinach and ricotta lasagne, please." Once the waiter left with their menus, Fernando made another attempt to smooth down his shirt, desperately hoping that Sergio didn't notice the few creases that he didn't have time to iron out. He'd been excited about their date all week but now, he found that he couldn't stop shaking._

_"So, where do you work?" He decided to ask, taking a large gulp of his water._

_If Sergio noticed his blatantly obvious nerves - and he probably did - he didn't comment. "It changes all the time. I'm a photographer."_

_"Do you work for a magazine? Or paper?"_

_"Freelance."_

_It made sense. Sergio didn't strike Fernando as the kind of person who sat in an office. "Do you photograph scenery?" He asked._

_"People."_

_Fernando fiddled with his napkin. "That sounds nice." He said honestly. He could only dream of the kind of freedom that freelancing brought._

_"It's alright. It'd be nice to settle at some point." Sergio confided, before asking; "And you? Do you like teaching?"_

_Fernando opened his mouth to answer before realising that he'd never thought about whether he actually enjoyed his job. "I like children." He offered a little lamely and tried to expand. "I like helping children but it can be hard. And I don't think I'm very good at teaching."_

_Sergio seemed to consider his answer. "Daniela thinks you're a good teacher."_

_"She does?" He brightened._

_"Yeah." Sergio smirked. "She says you make everyone listen to_ El Canto del Loco _while they work."_

_Fernando flushed. Again. "Oh, yeah. Well, they're a good band. And I read lots of research about music stimulating-"_

_Sergio reached out and caught at his hand, causing him to drop the napkin and the words he'd been speaking. "Why are you so nervous?" Sergio asked, running his thumb across Fernando's knuckle._

_Fernando wondered whether Sergio could feel his pulse hammering in his hand. "I don't know." He answered. And he didn't. He'd been on dates before - granted, not for a couple of years, teaching had the tendency to take over your life - but he'd never been wound up so tight. And Sergio drawing soft circles on his hand wasn't helping. "I'm sorry, I'm such a mess. I should leave."_

_He made to stand up but Sergio grabbed at his wrist with his other hand, firmly trapping him. "Fer, please." He said and Fernando's heart jumped at the name. "You're insane but I wouldn't be sat here if I wasn't completely in to it."_

_Fernando found that he couldn't argue with that. And the date didn't seem like such a disaster after a genuinely pleasant evening of good food and interesting chatter. In fact, when Sergio dropped him off at his apartment and pulled him in for a kiss, he could even say it had gone rather well._

_And the night went even better._

_*_

Fernando found Xabi sat at the table the next morning with a mug of black tea and dark circles under his eyes.

"Is he alright?" He asked in a poor attempt at nonchalance.

"He's stable."

He poured some of the rainwater they'd collected in to a saucepan and set it over the fire. "Was it bad?"

Xabi yawned and gave a small shake of his head. "I've seen far worse. But I've had better equipment to work with." He said, and added; "It wasn't a Creaker that hurt him."

Fernando didn't like the uneasy tone to his voice. "Has he woken up?"

"No."

"Will he?"

Fernando knew he'd probed too far when Xabi sent him a questioning glance. "Do you know him?"

He momentarily considered lying, turning around to watch the water begin to boil. "Does it matter?" Fernando didn't think it should.

It took a long time for Xabi to respond and when he did, it wasn't in relation to Fernando's remark. "I suspect he'll remain unconscious for today. His body needs to heal."

Good. Fernando needed some time; he needed to figure out how he was going to handle being around the person that led to his departure from Madrid. He'd run away from his problems back then.

Xabi left him to check on Sergio and Fernando decided that he needed to keep himself occupied otherwise he'd go insane.

He went and fetched more water from the river - even though Xabi hadn't requested it - and boiled off the infection himself. He dug up the ripest potatoes and planted new ones. He went out to check the animal traps and came back with two squirrels and a rabbit. All of which were the few things Xabi let him do but he felt proud even so.

Fernando didn't know why Xabi trusted him so little. He'd made some mistakes in the past - like when he'd left all the firewood out in the rain so no water could be boiled for a week and they'd survived on old, bottled water; or when he'd been eating outside while they chopped down the staircase to the treehouse and replaced it with a ladder, causing an infestation of rats that took almost a month to get rid of - but he'd been getting so much better.

And yet Xabi still refused to let him take charge of anything essential. Water samples were fine - Xabi could get more in Fernando messed up. So were the potatoes - more could just be planted. And as for the animal traps, Xabi was the one who set them up in the first place. He just built more if Fernando broke one - which he did, once.

But then, maybe Xabi was just one of those people that didn't trust anyone but themselves. Maybe Fernando wouldn't be in this treehouse if he'd been one of those people too.

In the evening, Xabi asked him to watch Sergio while he caught a couple of hours of sleep. Which wasn't as daunting a prospect as Fernando first feared - he just sat in the corner of the bedroom with his journal, thinking about what to write and preparing to fetch Xabi if Sergio threatened to wake up.

But Sergio didn't even twitch; the only sign that he was alive at all was the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

Fernando decided that there wasn't anything _too_ wrong with letting his gaze wander over Sergio - besides, it wasn't as if Sergio could see him and condemn him for it. He followed the slope of his nose, the pout of his lips, the stubble over his jaw and the line of his neck and shoulders before it disappeared beneath the sheets. And suddenly, Fernando found he didn't have the urge to write; he had the urge to draw.

Without hesitating, he put the pencil to paper and started drawing. Sergio specialised in photography, but he'd been a brilliant artist too and Fernando had loved watching him draw. Sergio had even given him a few lessons and, with those in mind, he did a quick sketch of Sergio's profile, shaded as best he could with the graphite. When he'd finished, he lifted it up to compare it with Sergio's sleeping form.

And the weight of what he'd just done hit him like a ton of bricks. _What was he doing?_ He scribbled the drawing out as hard as he could and slammed the journal shut, hoping it would help him resist any further temptation.

Xabi came in soon after that and Fernando was grateful to be sent to bed.


	3. 03/11/2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I'm posting this one quite late! I've been so busy today, I thought I wasn't going to finish it in time. My first NaNoWriMo crisis XD But it's done, hurdle jumped! Enjoy!

Fernando was beginning to think that he was the luckiest man in the world.

Sergio didn't wake up the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that. Almost an entire week passed and Sergio remained unconscious throughout.

He did grow a little concerned that this meant Sergio's condition was deteriorating and tried to slip it in to conversation with Xabi - in the least suspicious way possible.

"He hasn't died, has he? You'd know if he died?" _Yes. Not suspicious at all._

Xabi seemed far too exhausted to notice any panic in Fernando's voice. "No. It's just taking longer than I thought for his body to recover."

And with that reassurance in mind, Fernando found that he could almost forget about Sergio. He went about his normal routine; writing in his journal, fetching water samples for Xabi - who either used them up astonishingly quickly or just wanted to keep Fernando out of his way - dusting down the floors and surfaces, writing in his journal some more and even when he was sat twiddling his thumbs - which filled up a large part of most days - his head remained thankfully clear of any dwellings over his ex-boyfriend. Since he never ventured in to Xabi's room, it was almost as if Sergio wasn't there at all.

Xabi even allowed Fernando to help him build some new animal traps - after Fernando had pestered him for hours, of course - and they sat cross-legged in the grass beneath the treehouse, shaded from the Spanish sun.

They sat in content silence for a while, until Fernando decided to whisper; "Are you glad you found me?

"What's that?"

Fernando's face heated up and he kept his gaze downwards, on the binding in his hands. "Are you glad you found me?" He repeated. "D'you think you would have been better off on your own?" He felt stupidly embarrassed at his own question and refused to look up at the older man.

The silence was maintained for a few seconds longer. "If I was on my own, what would there be to live for?" Xabi eventually said and when he didn't continue, Fernando realised that he was meant to answer.

"Oh. Well, yourself?"

Xabi smiled and shook his head. "It's times like this when you need something to live for. Otherwise you just, give up. You're a good person, Fernando; the kind of person humanity needs to keep going. You're a reason to live."

Fernando decided that, after that, he didn't even mind that Xabi rebuilt all of his traps.

But his luck couldn't last forever.

And his stomach churned with a nauseating sense of dread when Xabi woke him up one morning - ungraciously tugging on his foot until he roused - and said; "He's awake."

*

_Fernando whistled a small tune to himself as he lugged the wicker basket of blackberries back to his treehouse. He felt slightly guilty about stealing them from someone's allotment - although to have an allotment this far outside the city probably meant the owner lived in one of those rural estates and could very easily buy more fruit._

_But it was late autumn and nobody had collected the produce. So, wouldn't it be worse to let them go to waste? That's what Fernando told himself anyway. And he'd replanted the seeds as a compromise._

_Another helicopter passed overhead, travelling east towards Madrid. He only used to see helicopters when a mass demonstration was happening - clearly there'd been a lot of those recently._

_He scampered up the stairs to the treehouse, carefully avoiding the slippery leaves that had fallen and nudged open the door with his shoulder._

_And a man who'd been standing in the centre of the room spun around to face him._

_His brain went in to overdrive._ Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. This is it - you've been caught. You're going to be arrested for trespassing. Sent back to Madrid. They'll be able to pay for a fancy lawyer and you don't have one of those.

_"Don't hurt me."_

_The words that spilled from the man's mouth caused Fernando's internal ramblings to immediately cease. He glanced over the knife that was clasped in one hand and fleetingly wondered why an armed man thought Fernando - with his mouth hanging open and carrying a basket of fruit - was going to hurt him._

_"What?" It was the only thing he could think to say._

_The man, slowly and carefully, placed the knife on the floor. "Please, don't hurt me. I didn't know someone had already claimed this base."_

_Either Fernando had spent too long out in the sun or the man was talking nonsense._ A base? _"Are you playing capture-the-flag?" He tried to joke before realising it was a pathetic attempt at humour and just laughed, nervously._

_"What?" It was the man's turn to be confused._

_Fernando fumbled for something to say. "This isn't my house." He tried to explain. "I just live here. For now, at least."_

_The man peered around the room. "I wouldn't leave, if I were you. You'd be hard pushed to find somewhere safer than this."_

_"Right." Fernando pretended to understand and dropped the basket of fruit by the door. "Did you need somewhere to sleep for the night? Or food? I have food. I can't cook anything though, all the electricity in the house has gone down. I don't know why."_

_The man gave him another quizzical glance, which Fernando thought was unfair as he was being just as peculiar, if not more so. Eventually, the man wiped his hand on his trousers and extended it. "I'm Xabi."_

_"Fernando." He responded tentatively and then they stood awkwardly for several beats, until he added; "I don't think whoever owns this house is going to come back. Not for a while, at least. I'll be going back to Madrid sooner or later, so you could-"_

_"Madrid? Are you insane?" The man - Xabi - practically shouted at him. It felt like a parent scolding a child._

_"I....no. I just, I wanted to offer the house to you. That's all." He finished quietly._

_Xabi stared at him for such a long time that Fernando began to feel uncomfortable and wondered whether inviting him to stay for the night was such a good idea._

_"How long have you been here?" Xabi asked._

_"Eighty-nine days." He answered, thinking back to the date he'd written in his journal that morning. "About three months."_

_Xabi held his gaze for another few seconds and then sighed, his shoulders dropping. "Can we put on some coffee or something? I've got a lot to tell you."_

_*_

"Absolutely not."

"Fernando, please."

"No."

"I need you to do this."

"This is peer-pressure."

Xabi threw his hands up in exasperation. "I can't do it, I don't know him."

"Maybe I don't know him either."

"I'm not an idiot. And you're not an actor."

Fernando folded his arms. "I'll have you know that I starred in the school pantomime three years running." He said indignantly - and in an attempt to derail the conversation.

Xabi really wasn't an idiot though. "Fernando, this is ridiculous. _You're_ ridiculous."

"I'm not talking to him."

"Oh, for god's sake." Xabi grabbed his wrist and pulled him out of the kitchen and down the corridor. Fernando struggled pitifully against Xabi's strength and was forced to stop outside of the closed door to Xabi's bedroom. "I spoke to him when he woke up." Xabi hissed, so that Sergio couldn't hear. "I managed to get his name and that he'd come from Madrid, and that was all. He wouldn't tell me anything about what happened to him. I need you to find out."

"Why d'you think he'll tell me anything?" Fernando whispered back.

"I've no idea if he will. But he knows you - you've got a better chance than me." And he left Fernando stood outside the bedroom door, muttering to himself as he stalked back down the corridor.

Fernando stood outside the door for almost a whole minute, dithering over whether to go in or and scarper and hide in his own bedroom until Xabi called him every obscenity under the sun, but gave up on forcing him to talk to Sergio.

He realised with that thought that he was being completely pathetic and, giving himself a mental pep-talk, pushed open the door to Xabi's bedroom.

It was bright inside the room. Xabi's room was never bright - he liked to keep his curtains closed. Sergio must have opened them.

The man in question remained in the bed but he was propped up against the pillows and flicking through one of Xabi's favourite books, _Homage to Catalonia._ The blood in his hair had been washed out and the bruises on his skin were fading. He put the book down when Fernando walked in.

Fernando considered closing the door behind him but decided that an escape route could only be a good thing. He wandered over to the bed slowly, aware that Sergio was watching him and sat down on the chair, maintaining a safe distance between him and the bed.

"Hi."

It sounded naïve even to Fernando's ears. _Hi?_ That was the best he could come up with - after the way things had been left in Madrid?

Sergio kept looking at him with those _stupid_ eyes before turning his gaze to his hands and picking at the bedsheet. "I thought you were dead." There was something in his voice that Fernando wanted to pretend he hadn't heard.

"I thought you were dead, too." He didn't know what else to say.

"I almost was, when you found me." Sergio glanced around the bedroom, his eyes wide. "Is this yours?"

Fernando glanced around the room too. "Not really. I just, found it."

Sergio met his gaze then. "When?" Fernando didn't answer, and Sergio pushed. "Is this where you came to? After you disappeared?" There was a note of sad accusation in his tone and Fernando didn't want to talk about this, not now, not when the shock of being around him was still too much.

"Do you know what's happened?" Sergio eventually asked when it became obvious that Fernando wasn't going to answer him.

"Yes."

"How?"

"Xabi."

"Xabi?"

Fernando started to scuff the floor with the toe of his shoe. "He's my friend. The one you spoke to earlier." He thought back to their conversation on the grass. "And he's a good person."

Sergio fidgeted under the bedsheets, bringing his knees up to his chest. "Does anybody else live here?"

"No. It's just us."

They lapsed in to silence after that. Fernando had sometimes thought about what he'd say to Sergio if he ever saw him again, but now - none of his pre-prepared speeches seemed right. Their breakup had been handled badly and neither the time nor space had done any good; the pain was as raw as it had been the day he left Madrid. And Fernando couldn't right that wrong with a few words - no matter how many times he'd practised them.

When the mess in his brain became too much, Fernando conceded and asked; "How is Madrid?" And yes, it was another naïve question but he had nothing else to offer.

"You wouldn't recognise it." Sergio just said, before looking back at Fernando. "Look, Fer, I-"

"Don't call me that."

He wasn't quite sure why he snapped but once the words were out, he couldn't take them back. Sergio just looked confused. "What? Fer?"

"You can't call me that anymore." He said quietly, but it sounded louder than a siren in the thin air.

Sergio didn't respond at first - more surprised than maybe he should have been - before he just pouted slightly. "You can't control what I say. Fer."

"Don't." Fernando knew how petulant Sergio could be. It was the only time when he'd felt like the mature one.

"Nando."

"Stop it."

"Niño."

"I'm being serious."

"Sex kitten."

And his shameless audacity caused Fernando to forget he was meant to be interrogating Sergio about his injuries - he stormed out of the room, positively fuming when he heard Sergio's laughter echoing behind him.


	4. 04/11/2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, another 'late in the day' update! My most sincerest apologies.
> 
> This chapter is also about 650 words shorter than usual. I've had another annoyingly busy day and the ending to this chapter feels a little rushed. I hope you still enjoy it and tomorrow's chapter will be longer, I promise!

_"Fernando? Fer? C'mon, wake up."_

_Fernando grumbled in his sleep as he was pulled out of the most delicious dream of him and Sergio eating strawberry jam off of each other. Maybe he should suggest the idea for real?_

_"Fer, I've got to go."_

_He grumbled again. From next to him, Sergio laughed._

_"I'm going to miss my flight if you don't get your lazy ass out of my bed."_

_"Maybe you shouldn't have worn me out so much last night." He smiled against the pillow, keeping his eyes closed and attempting to snuggle back down in to his dream._

_Sergio snorted and began to disentangle himself from the duvet. Fernando felt the movement and flopped over, wrapping himself around Sergio to trap him against the bed. "Don't go." He murmured sleepily against the skin of Sergio's shoulder, leaving a small kiss for good measure. "I’ll cook you breakfast.”_

_His comment elicited a chuckle out of Sergio. "You're an awful cook, Fer."_

_"Hey!" He pouted up at him. "I made those buns for my class last week."_

_"Using the packaged mix you bought from the store?"_

_"The instructions were complicated!"_

_Another chuckle. "Okay, I retract my statement. You're a Michelin-star chef."_

_"I'm glad we agree." He grinned and began to kiss a path up Sergio's neck, pausing at his ear. "Can't I convince you to stay?"_

_"Yes." Sergio breathed out and Fernando had a little victory dance in his head. "But you shouldn't - I promised to commission the photographs of the earthquake survivors' weeks ago." When Fernando gave him his best puppy-dog eyes, he rolled over and brought them face to face. "I don't plan to freelance forever." He said softly, tracing Fernando's bottom lip with his thumb. "Madrid is where I want to be. I'll take on a local job, sometime in the future."_

_Fernando allowed him to draw small hearts on his lip, before asking; "Am I there?"_

_Sergio frowned in confusion, moving his thumb to Fernando's cheek and continuing his patterns. Fernando tried again. "In your future. Am I...am I there?" Before Sergio had a chance to respond, Fernando blurted out; "Because you're in mine."_

_The few seconds of silence that passed felt like the longest in Fernando's life until, finally, Sergio smiled; "Yeah? And what's in your future?"_

_Fernando suddenly felt stupidly embarrassed. Had he really just admitted to Sergio - who he'd only been dating for three months - that he'd already planned out a future together? He didn't want Sergio to think he was some kind of weirdo who'd written a step-by-step timeline of their lives. Because, it wasn't like that. Sergio just happened to be the only man he'd ever looked at and thought;_ Yes. I could do this forever.

 _But Sergio was watching him expectantly, his expression curious. So he fumbled for an answer. "I just...I thought we'd live in one of those nice houses in the old district of Madrid. We'd have a cat - or a dog, whatever you wanted - and a balcony, so that you could draw outside. We'd have stupid traditions like barbecue's on a Sunday and a people carrier for...for a family." The word_ family _tasted foreign in his mouth._

_The silence stretched so long between them this time that Fernando realised Sergio had nothing to say. He blushed heavily, unwinding himself from Sergio and sat up. "You probably should get up. You really will miss your flight."_

_Sergio sat up too but didn't move. Fernando tried to remove himself from the awkward situation by glancing around for his clothes, determinedly looking in any space that Sergio didn't occupy._

_"You don't have to get up. If you don't want to." Sergio broke first, his voice quiet._

_"It's okay. You need to lock up."_ Where the fuck were his jeans? He hadn't left them in the living room, had he?

_Sergio's fingers laced with his on the bed. "Unless you locked up?"_

_Fernando did turn to face him then. "What d'you mean?"_

_He didn't think he'd actually seen Sergio flush until this moment. "I mean, you could have a key to my apartment? If you wanted?"_

_"I....really?" He bit down on his lip to stop from grinning ear to ear._

_Sergio nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "You can use the spare key until I get back. Then I'll get another one made." He leant in and gave Fernando a quick kiss, before winking. "I'll be expecting a full course meal for when I return."_

_"Of what?"_

_"Whatever showcases your Michelin-star abilities."_

_Fernando thought for a moment. "Do you like jam?"_

_*_

Fernando refused to speak with Sergio after that particular episode. Xabi was tearing his hair out with frustration, especially since Fernando wouldn't tell him _why_ he wouldn't engage with Sergio.

And really, Fernando thought that was fair enough; his history with Sergio was private and he wasn't about to give Xabi a transcription of their conversation. Besides, just thinking about it made his cheeks heat up with anger and Xabi had caught him mindlessly ranting to himself just the other day.

But Sergio had been out of line. He couldn't even see the line. It both bothered and bewildered Fernando that Sergio thought he could throw about some cheeky flirtation and everything could be erased. Either the apocalypse had sent him insane - quite literally - or he lacked the basic understanding that their breakup had broken Fernando to a point he wasn't sure he'd ever fully heal from.

Neither was a particularly appealing scenario.

Xabi - although annoyed with Fernando - had been kind enough to insist that Sergio stay put in bed until he was sure his injuries had healed. And really, Fernando knew that it was for his benefit, to give him the space he desperately craved from Sergio. He wished he was strong enough to face Sergio and demand to know what had happened to him - if only to repay Xabi - but he just wasn't, and instead tried to repay him by doing extra chores around the treehouse; which went unsurprisingly badly and Xabi would simply shoo him away.

Most of his afternoons would be spent down near the riverbank. Sometimes he'd bring the bucket and gloves to collect water samples but it was all for show; he wanted to be away from the suffocating atmosphere of the treehouse. He'd stare at the river and find himself desperately wishing that he could submerge himself under the water, clothes and all, and hide away from Sergio, from their past, from the apocalypse - but, well, the river was infected water and that'd be the equivalent of suicide. So he contented himself with just watching; and wishing.

It was all very peaceful and calming until he discovered an arm floating downstream.

The immediate horror that hit him was replaced by fascination when he realised that the arm had belonged to a Creaker, rather than a human. The veins were blue and pulsating and only two of the five fingers remained. It might not have been a whole Creaker, but it was the closest Fernando had ever been to the mythical creatures Turned by the infection and currently wiping out the human race.

Using a stick, he managed to drift the arm over to the bankside and - with the gloves on - popped it in the bucket and delivered it to Xabi. Who gave him a look of complete distain when he put it on the kitchen table and was given a full-blown lecture about hygiene. After he'd finished, he asked where Fernando had found it.

"The river."

It was nothing of significance to Fernando. Simply proof that Creakers _did_ exist; not that he'd thought Xabi was lying but seeing was believing. Sometimes.

But when he wandered in to the kitchen the next morning and saw that Xabi had brought out all the weapons they'd stashed away months ago - under the pretence that they wouldn't be needed - Fernando knew that Xabi had been shaken.

"What's going on?"

Xabi didn't even look up as he began selecting the smallest knives. "We got complacent."

"Huh?" Fernando yawned. It was too early in the morning for Xabi to be cryptic.

"We forgot there was an apocalypse, Fernando." He just said and, walking around the table, pressed one of the blades in to his hand. "It's time you learnt how to fight."


	5. 05/11/2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Bonfire Night! :3

_Thwack._

Fernando tumbled to ground with a thump and his knife was sent spinning through the air. It landed heavily against the nearest tree.

From above him, Xabi sighed. "Alright. You're dead. Again."

Fernando nursed his elbow with a scowl. "I think you've sprained my arm." He complained.

"Then you're definitely dead. And you've lost your weapon."

"You're not meant to _actually_ handicap me." He pushed himself up from the ground and went to retrieve his blade. "And this thing is so small. How am I supposed to use it?"

Xabi leant against his wooden shield patiently; when Fernando had heard him pottering about all through the night, he hadn't realised Xabi was carving out a block of wood to bash him round the head with. "I don't trust you with anything bigger yet."

Fernando fussed under his breath but obligingly went to stand in front of Xabi again, his right arm still throbbing from the fall and his left from clutching the knife so tightly in his fist. "Fine. Let's go."

Xabi lifted the shield and took his stance, indicating for Fernando to initiate the attack. He dithered for a moment, before attempting to jab towards Xabi's shoulder. His attack was knocked away and he went for Xabi's exposed stomach but proved to slow and his arm shook as the blade sunk in to the wood of the shield. He grabbed at the handle with both hands, attempting to pull it out, but he'd wedged the knife in too far and Xabi just gave him a shove until he stumbled backwards and plonked down on the grass.

"Again."

"I can't do it!" He cried out in frustration and hid his face in his hands. "I'm just hopeless, Xabi."

Xabi didn't appear amused. "This isn't a pity session; it's a training one."

"I'm not looking for pity!" He tried to defend himself and hold back the tears that were threatening to spill. "But this is a waste of time. I'm only still here because I'm _lucky._ I can't fight, I can't cook, I can't survive on my own; we might as well accept that I won't make it out of an attack alive."

Xabi walked over and took a seat on the grass next to him. "You can accept that. I don't."

Fernando just sniffed and brought up his legs to wrap his arms around them. The late August sun beat down on them and Fernando squinted at the treehouse in the near distance.

"I'm just lucky, too." Xabi began. "I'm not a fighter. I'm a nurse. And I was lucky to be one. We knew something was about to happen; the sudden influx of patients coming in, the correspondents we had from medical societies around the world - we knew a pandemic was about to break out. Before the World Health Organisation could do anything, the infection had hit and the human race started to fall. I'd packed up a bag just a few days before so I got in my car and left Madrid; took my wife, my kids but it was too late. They Tuned and I should've too. I was just luckier than other people." He turned to Fernando. "That's why I need all those water samples. I want to find out what the infection is, exactly what is does to the body - how it could be stopped. I was lucky when others weren't and the least I can do is use that for something worthwhile. So should you."

Fernando was quiet after Xabi's admission for a long time before asking; "What can I do that's worthwhile?"

"Just surviving is enough." Xabi said. "You keep surviving, because others couldn't."

Fernando stared down at his feet and picked at a blade of grass. "Did you have to kill them?" He hoped he wasn't crossing a line.

"Who?"

"Your family?" His voice was barely audible. "Did you have to kill them?"

Several moments passed. "It wasn't them anymore." Something uncomfortable laced his voice and Fernando supposed that he was also lucky to have had no family to kill.

"I'm sorry." He whispered and reached out to squeeze Xabi's wrist. Xabi didn't respond and they sat in reticence for a long time until Fernando decided to speak. "Shall we go again?"

They trained for another hour but Xabi conceded defeat for the day when Fernando cut his own hand open and they trooped back towards the treehouse to bandage it up. Xabi went to fetch the first-aid kit and Fernando wandered in to the kitchen, stopping short when he saw Sergio standing over near the window.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" He began to splutter. "You're meant to be in Xabi's room!"

"I was watching you." Sergio indicated the window. "Nice moves, by the way."

"I... _shut up._ " Fernando shot him a glare and sat down in the chair furthest away from his ex-boyfriend. Xabi returned with the first-aid kit and began to bandage up Fernando's hand, either oblivious to or ignoring the blatant tension in the air. The angry silence remained unperturbed until Sergio spoke.

"I can help."

"Hmm?" Xabi queried distractedly while Fernando quietly scoffed.

"With the training." Sergio continued. "I've been in Madrid this whole time. I know how to fight."

Xabi raised a curious eyebrow at him as he pinned the bandage in place. "You've killed Creakers?"

"What?"

"Creakers. It's what we call them." Xabi explained. "Because of the infected water in their bodies; their joints creak when they move. You can hear them."

Sergio glanced between them both. "Oh. Yeah - I've killed loads."

Xabi seemed to consider his proposition as he packed up the first-aid materials and Fernando cradled his wounded hand, refusing to look up towards Sergio. Just as Xabi stood up, he said; "That'd be great. We could do with some experience."

Fernando began to protest in indignation as Sergio smiled but Xabi took no notice of either, exiting the room. Fernando rounded on Sergio as soon as they were alone. _"W_ _hat are you doing?"_

Sergio sent him a look of irk. "I just want to help."

"We don't need your help. We were doing fine without you!" Fernando persevered stubbornly.

His comment seemed to rub Sergio the wrong way. "I didn't come here to ruin whatever perfect, little life you and Xabi have together. _You_ found _me,_ remember?"

Fernando didn't have a response to that so he resorted to stomping out of the kitchen and locking himself in his bedroom. _Wonderful, Fernando. Just as mature as one of your students._

He went to retrieve his journal from under his bed and scrawl down a long, arduous rant about Sergio but noticed that it was lying on the bedside table. Definitely where he hadn't left it.

Uncertainly, he picked it up and flicked through, pausing at the drawing of Sergio that he'd scribbled out. A short annotation had been written next to it; _This looked good. Could've used some more contouring though._

Stunned - and irritated that his defacing skills were clearly worse than his comebacks - he turned to the latest entry and stopped, shocked, at the double-page sketch of a sleeping Fernando that stared back at him.

*

_The car pulled up outside the Sevillan home, tires dredging up the light snow that caked the road. Fernando wrung his hands together in the passenger seat, heart pounding against his ribcage._

_Sergio cut the engine. "Are you alright?"_

_Fernando gave what he hoped was a convincing smile. "Yeah. This is just...new." Christmas, celebrations, family; they were all strange to someone who'd been dumped at foster home after foster home as a child, never staying long enough for Christmas to come around. His first Christmas present had been two years ago, when he was twenty-three - and it had been a box of chocolates for the teacher's secret Santa._

_As for family; Fernando had accepted a long time ago that it was too late for him to find one of those._

_"We don't have to go in." Sergio suggested, circling his finger over Fernando's knee. "I can tell them you didn't feel well."_

_The look that Fernando gave him was grateful but determined. "No. I want to do this."_

_They both exited the car, hugging their coats to their bodies against the cold wind. When Sergio knocked on the door, Fernando felt his legs begin to tremble and Sergio entwined their fingers together._

_The door was thrown open by a familiar girl with brown hair and a wide grin. "Uncle Sese!" She leapt up in to Sergio's arms, who laughed and mocked falling backwards._

_"Jesus, you're heavy. Have you been eating too many mince pies, Daniela?" He teased and tickled her stomach until she wriggled out of his grasp. Then she turned to Fernando, giving him a small smile._

_"Happy Christmas Mr. Torres." She said and Fernando smiled nervously, a little embarrassed at his workplace title being used. Daniela scuttled back inside the house when her name was called and an older woman appeared at the door, immediately embracing Sergio. Fernando shuffled his feet awkwardly as they hugged and murmured things to each other, deciding that it was definitely too rude to throw up on the front doorstep._

_"Ma, this is Fernando."_

_"Of course, of course!" The woman - Sergio's mother - wrapped Fernando up in a hug so tight that he almost couldn't breathe. But, it was a nice kind of tight. She drew away, looking at him with kind eyes. "I've been asking Sergio to introduce you for weeks." Planting a kiss on his cheek, she ushered them both in to the house. The warm smell of baking reached Fernando's nostrils and he soon found himself completely swamped with Sergio's family._

_In fact, he barely saw Sergio for the whole evening. Either his boyfriend had the most hospitable family in the whole of Spain or he'd told everyone to be so; Fernando found he didn't care either way. He'd never felt so accommodated by a group of people in his whole life. He helped make stuffing with Sergio's grandmother - she didn't mind that Fernando wasn't very good at it - drank eggnog with his brother, and pulled a Christmas cracker with his third cousin._

_He was sure that nobody would be interested in his job, his hobbies, his favourite books and films but it was all anyone wanted to talk about. And he realised that he'd been missing out on an important part of life this whole time._

_Sergio did manage to capture him just after the Christmas dinner and dragged him over to the mistletoe. He flushed and moved in for a kiss but Sergio prevented him at the last second._

_"Wait." He said, and lifted a card up. "Open this?"_

_Fernando glanced at the card. "I left your present in Madrid."_

_"This is just a subsidiary present." He said. "I've got your actual present back in Madrid too."_

_"Oh. Thank you." Fernando took the envelope from Sergio, opening it up. Inside was a card with_ El Canto del Loco _wearing Santa hats. "Really?" Fernando laughed and Sergio shrugged, offering him a smirk. He opened up the card which had Sergio's loopy writing and a receipt. He scanned over the receipt._

_"You bought me art lessons?" He asked, astounded._

_Sergio nodded. "Yeah. You wanted me to teach you how to draw. And, I can still can, if you want. But I'm better at photography and I thought you'd prefer getting lessons from a professional?"_

_Fernando opened his mouth and closed it repeatedly, until Sergio questioned; "Do you like it?"_

_He did. He really, truly did. He'd never had a present - Christmas or birthday - that was this thoughtful before. "Can I kiss you now?"_

_Sergio laughed and conceded, bringing their lips together._

_Later that evening, when all of Sergio's nieces and nephews were cuddling him on the sofa as they watched an old film, Fernando realised that it might not be too late for him at all._


	6. 06/11/2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I haven't been giving Sergio the spotlight he deserves - hopefully I'll make amends in this (really short, I'm so sorry!) chapter.

"What the _fuck_ is this?"

Sergio glanced up with an innocent expression as Fernando slapped his journal down on the kitchen table the following morning. His bottom lip was quivering with frustration. "It's a notebook." Sergio answered politely, taking a sip of black tea.

"It's _my_ journal!" Fernando refuted, although unnecessarily - Sergio was perfectly aware of what it was and they both knew it. "And you....vandalized it!"

Sergio stared at him for a few seconds before pushing his lip out in a pout. "I thought it was good."

"That's not the point!" He ignored the fact that the picture  _had_ been rather good. "This journal-", he brandished it around, "-is private! And drawing me when I'm asleep is violation!"

"You drew me when I was asleep."

"I....didn't mean to do that." Fernando said, as if it was a reasonable excuse. "And I didn't mean for you to see it either. You drew this with the specific intention of me finding it!"

Sergio shrugged, staring down at his mug. "I thought it was nice that you still liked to draw."

"Yes, but...not for you!" He spluttered. “What you're doing isn't fair."

"What am I doing?"

Fernando gripped the journal tight between his fingers. "Pretending that nothing happened."

Sergio kept his eyes trained on the mug in his hands, not answering. And Fernando found that he no longer had the energy to push further; arguing with Sergio was exhausting. And he needed to save himself for all the training Xabi was determined to put him through. "Just, don't do it again." _He just couldn't take it._

Sergio was very quiet and Fernando fleetingly worried that he'd upset him - and why the thought made him worried, he didn't know - until Sergio asked in a defeated voice; "Why d'you leave, Fer?"

Fernando was too stunned by the question to scold Sergio for using his nickname and found himself beginning to fluster. Fortunately, Xabi saved him from having to answer by pottering in to the room with an expression of blissful ignorance at the atmosphere in the kitchen.

"Morning. Ready to train, Fernando?"

 _Urgh. Just what he needed._ "My hand is still injured." He indicated the bandaged hand with a wave.

Xabi scoffed. "You're going to have to learn to fight with both your legs broken if you want to survive. Outside, five minutes." And he left.

Another suffocating silence descended over the room, somehow heavier than before - the interruption had just intensified the brewing storm. _Damn it, Xabi._

"Why did you leave?" Sergio repeated suddenly and Fernando realised he wasn't getting out of this; not a chance.

He fiddled around with the journal. "I just couldn't stay." He mumbled, unable to meet Sergio's gaze.

"Don't." Sergio rounded the table and pulled the journal out of his hands, ignoring Fernando's protests. "C'mon, give me a reason. God knows I've been waiting for one ever since I got here."

Tears of frustration sprung to Fernando's eyes. "I needed something different."

"Different? You mean, something _not me."_

There was something awful in Sergio's voice that Fernando didn't want to recognise. "I mean exactly what I said." He just stated, beginning to shake with the strain of holding his emotions together. "I gave _everything_ to our relationship and look where it left us. I needed to start again."

His vague explanation only seemed to irritate Sergio. "And what about me, Fer?"

"Stop saying that." He whispered.

"You just disappeared. And I searched for you - for weeks; but nobody knew where you'd gone. Did you even think about me _at all?"_

Fernando was clenching his fists so tightly that he was sure tiny, crescent-moons would be imprinted on his palm. "Stop pretending that you were the victim in this!"

"The only person pretending is you, Fernando." And Fernando had never heard Sergio sound so serious in his life. "Paint it whatever colours you want but the truth is that _you_ ran away. And that's it."

Before Fernando could think of an appropriate response, a sharp ' _Fernando'_ cut through the treehouse and he knew his five minutes were up. And he no longer minded; training sounded more fun than this particular conversation.

He trailed out of the treehouse, instantly transforming in to his usual, dopey cheerfulness for Xabi's benefit - he didn't need to deal with the after effects of another stupid argument. Sergio joined them a few minutes later and Fernando watched him and Xabi chat about Creakers as he warmed up. He caught on to words like ' _bones'_ and ' _bite'_ but the discussion remained largely unheard.

So instead, he occupied himself by deciding that absolutely nothing Sergio had suggested was correct.

Nothing at all.

He fell apart after their relationship was left battered and irreparable; and, just maybe, he handled it badly. And overreacted. But that didn't give Sergio an automatic right to take some sort of moral high ground. Not even close.

He tried to maintain a faux smile for the entirety of the training session. It helped that Sergio didn't particularly engage with the training - he just sat against the nearest tree and watched, sometimes correcting Xabi on a certain attack or defensive technique. While Fernando would be far more enthusiastic about hitting Sergio than he was Xabi, the idea wasn't quite tempting enough.

For now though, Fernando stuck with Xabi and he wasn't any better than he'd been during the previous sessions. He lost his balance far too often, his movements were too slow and sloppy, his hits were pathetically weak and after just a couple of hours, Xabi looked ready to throw the towel in, his inspirational speech forgotten with each mistake that Fernando made.

Even he had a patience threshold. "Shall we call it a day?" He sighed, as Fernando allowed yet another knife to be sent spinning from his hands.

"No, it's alright." He tried to grin, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "That knife _definitely_ stayed in my hands for around ten seconds longer than the last one."

Xabi ran a hand through his hair. "You're trying your best, Fernando. But there's only so much progress you can make in one day."

Fernando's shoulders sagged; he knew that was Xabi talk for _'I'm getting frustrated with you and we need to stop before I crack'_ _._ "I can do better. I swear."

"I'll do it." Sergio interjected suddenly, after having not spoken for almost fifteen minutes.

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no._

"Yes, perfect." Xabi sounded relieved; as if Sergio was his saving grace.

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no!_

"I'll start cooking for tonight. The wood got pretty wet in the rain last night so it'll take a while to get a fire going." Xabi continued, handing the wooden shield over the Sergio.

Fernando sent daggers towards Xabi's retreating back as he strolled back to the treehouse. _Judas._ He then watched, warily, as Sergio deposited the shield on the ground and rolled up his sleeves.

"Put the knife down." He said, indicating the blade in Fernando's hands. He glanced at the weapon, and then back at Sergio.

"But I need it. Xabi said-"

"Xabi's wrong." Sergio stated bluntly and walked over to Fernando, plucking the knife out from between his fingers. "If you happen to have a weapon when you're attacked then great, use it. But the chances are that you won't. You need to learn how to fight without one."

"Then I'll just keep a knife tucked in my sleeves at all times." He suggested.

"What if you're naked when you're attacked?" Sergio countered.

Fernando stared. "Why would I be naked?"

"You tell me."

"I..... _no._ " He - unsurprisingly - flushed at the provocative nature of the statement. And, if he didn't know any better, the possible insinuation that something was going on between him and Xabi; a thought so bizarre that he chose not to dwell on it. "But, fine. Let's do this."


	7. 07/11/2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop, one week of NaNoWriMo completed. Just three more to go! (Oh no). I'm a little unhappy with the way I've written the flashback in this chapter, so my apologies for that, but I suppose the editing process all comes once this is finished, right? 
> 
> Nevertheless, enjoy!

Gradually, the three of them slipped in to a routine together.

Xabi would be up first each morning - he'd manage to wheedle his own bed back while Sergio took the sofa - and prepared breakfast. Fernando and Sergio would rise around the same time and he'd send Fernando out early to collect the water samples whilst Sergio helped to chop up the firewood. When Fernando returned, Xabi would disappear off in to his study room with the buckets of infected water and Sergio would cover the training sessions with Fernando.

At first, he hadn't been sure whether Sergio would stay. They'd never discussed it as a group. But it became apparent quite quickly that Sergio had no intention of leaving and Xabi had no intention of sending him away. When Fernando had asked Xabi, he'd just said; "I trust your judgement."

Fernando didn't even know what his judgement was but Xabi was a lot smarter than him, so he didn’t dispute it. And being around Sergio was no longer as daunting as it had once been; their argument had risen a fair few tensions and raised a fair few questions, but neither of them were demanding the answers right now; voicing everything had given them some desperately needed breathing space. He didn't necessarily bask in Sergio's company, but he tolerated it. And that was alright, for now.

Xabi’s studies had also taken a turn for the better as more and more Creaker limbs began appearing in the river and he’d given the infection a name – Aguabicho - and determined that it was a parasite using humans as a host and his theory that boiling the water killed off the infection was correct. He'd tried to explain it to both Fernando and Sergio, using lots of scientific and medical terminology until, when faced with two blank expressions, sighed and said; "They're basically zombies."

He'd been especially excited when Fernando brought him a head that had washed up on the bank and he'd skipped down the corridor to his study room, ignoring Fernando's claims that he was now traumatised for life.

Fernando still wasn't trusted with any of the more crucial tasks but he now felt like he held an integral role in the group - and it was a good feeling.

But their perfect, isolated life made it all too easy to forget that they lived in a dangerous world. And the world had its own ways of reminding them.

And Fernando should have been expecting it - he should have seen it coming. He should have known that the apocalypse would catch up with them sooner or later.

But his first ever Creaker attack still managed to take them all by surprise.

Summer had well and truly disappeared as the leaves began to turn crisp and golden, and the nights became colder. They all travelled out to search for ripe, autumn fruits and while Xabi went off in the direction of the fruit trees, Fernando decided to head back to the allotment he'd found almost a full year ago.

A little frustratingly, Sergio chose to tag along but Fernando decided to maintain the unspoken truce that existed between them and didn't complain.

The fallen leaves crackled underneath their footsteps as they wandered in content silence, Fernando admiring the sight of the changing forest - autumn always had been his favourite time of year. When Sergio asked where they were going, he gave the brief directions and then added; "The last time I came here, I met Xabi."

He smiled slightly at the memory of him and Xabi involved in a long, drawn-out miscommunication and hadn't realised that Sergio was taking his time to answer until his reverie was disrupted with a; "You two are close."

"Yeah," Fernando mused. "We are. He's the reason I'm alive." He didn't think he'd ever had a friend like Xabi before the apocalypse.

"Do you like him?"

"Well, I don't have a choice, do I?" He tried to joke but the smile slipped off when he caught sight of Sergio's anything-but-amused expression. "You mean, do I _like_ him?"

Sergio shrugged.

Fernando wanted to snort with laughter at the ridiculous assumption and Sergio's poor attempt at nonchalance. But, instead, he found that the words that spilled out of his mouth were; "Would it bother you if I did?"

And he had no idea why he'd asked; he didn't even know why he cared except that once the question was out there, he really wanted to know the answer.

Sergio didn't disappoint. He didn't even seem taken aback by the question. "Yeah. It would." he said, quietly.

 _Then maybe you shouldn't have ended things the way you did,_ Fernando wanted to shout at him but knew that nothing good could come of it and just looked down at his feet. "Oh. Okay." It was the only thing he could think to say.

Sergio appeared disappointed with his response - or lack of one - but didn't push further and they lapsed back in to their silence again.  

They'd been walking for another solid ten minutes, before Fernando decided to try his luck. "What happened to you?"

"Hmm?"

"When I found you; bloodied and beaten on the riverbank." He tried to elaborate. "Because, it wasn't Creakers. You never told me."

Sergio considered his question for a moment. "You never told me why you ran away."

"I didn't _run away._ " Fernando muttered, annoyed that his questioned had been countered. _So much for the unspoken truce_. "I left. You didn't want me to stay."

"That's not true, Fer."

"Quit with the name!"

"Fer."

"Stop!"

A strangled scream cut through their bickering and Fernando's blood ran cold. _Xabi._

Without a second thought, he took off sprinting in the opposite direction, crashing through the trees. He tripped and stumbled over roots and stumps and fallen branches until he knew that he must be covered in mud and scratches but none of that mattered when another cry echoed through the woods, sharp with pain.

The adrenaline - or was it terror? - being pumped through his body is what kept him going, his breathing laboured and broken and he'd never run so fast before. It seemed to take far, far too long for him to reach the clearing of the fruit trees; and when he did, his heart stopped completely.

The basket that Xabi had been collecting his fruit in had been shredded to pieces and scattered across the forest floor; and Xabi himself was crumpled on the floor, his arm twisted in an unnatural angle and flanked by three figures.

In his panic-driven state, he didn't even notice that the distorted, hunched figures were Creakers and the first that he'd ever come across. All he could think to do was launch himself towards them, digging his nails in to a cold, pale shoulder.

The realisation hit him once his fingers went straight through the flesh and stripped it off. His eyes widened in shock and he stumbled backwards, as the figure curled around to face him, snarling. The other two continued to rip at Xabi but all the heroism in his body had evaporated as he caught sight of the milky-white eyes that stared back at him, nostrils flaring.

And he froze. His body shut down and he backed up against the nearest tree, sliding down until he was a shaking, sobbing figure on the ground. And Xabi continued to scream at him for help, his cries piercing through Fernando's skin, but he couldn't move, could hardly even breathe. And the Creaker had lost interest in him, had turned back to Xabi, and Fernando knew, _he just knew_ that he was listening to his friend die and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

He remained weak and pathetic on the floor as a different set of shrieks began to slice through the air - like squealing pigs - and covered his eyes helplessly until the sounds died away and an odd, sort of silence settled around them. He peeked through his fingers to see the Creakers motionless on the ground and Sergio crouched over Xabi's shuddering figure, talking in a hushed voice.

When he blinked, he noticed that his eyelashes were wet with tears and he watched as Sergio approached him, his arms doused in blood up to the elbows. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Was _he_ hurt? Was _he_ hurt!? He'd sat and let his best friend be ripped apart and Sergio was asking if _he_ was hurt? He didn't have an opportunity to say any of that to Sergio though, because he took another look at Xabi's body - at his blood staining the freshly-fallen leaves - and intense nausea gripped him like a fist.

He doubled over and threw up.

*

_Fernando grinned like a schoolboy as he clicked the key to Sergio's apartment in the lock. It still excited him that Sergio had given him all-hours access to his home; and, more than that, a significant symbol of commitment. Just thinking about it made his stomach feel like a helter-skelter._

_He'd brought a Chinese take-away for him and Sergio - who was due back from his latest commissioning assignment in Beijing - and hoped to get everything laid out for when he arrived. But the second he shut the door, Fernando noticed Sergio's shoes and coat were strewn across the sofa._ Typical.

_"Sergio?" He called out, depositing the keys on the counter and shedding his own coat. "Sergio?"_

_There was no immediate response but a sniffle sounded from Sergio's bedroom and Fernando went over to investigate, pushing the door open gently._

_"Sergio?" He repeated, taking in the sight of his boyfriend sat cross-legged on the bed, clutching a pillow tight to his body. "What's going on? What's wrong?"_

_Sergio gave him no answer and he cautiously made his way over to the bed, sitting down on the edge. "What are you doing?"_

_A small shrug. "The pillow smells like your shampoo."_

_In another circumstance, Fernando would've smiled. But Sergio was scaring him too much. "Sergio, please. Why are you back so early?"_

_"Ma called me this morning." He whispered, his eyes fixated on the tiny patterns covering his bedsheets._

_"Is something wrong?" And Fernando didn't mean for it to be such a stupid question because of course something was wrong, but he didn't know what else to ask._

_Sergio looked as if he was about to burst in to tears so Fernando crawled over to him, pulling his head down on to his lap smoothly. "Please tell me?" He asked, softly, stroking his fingers through Sergio's long hair._

_Sergio discarded the pillow, wrapping his arms around Fernando's waist instead. "They're getting a divorce; been thinking about it for a long time." His voice was thick with emotion. "She said they don't love each other anymore."_

_"I'm so sorry." Fernando cradled his head, rocking him gently. "I'm so, so sorry."_

_"They've both been calling me all day." Sergio continued, his shoulders quivering. "But I can't pick up. I can't listen to them tell me that they love me, that they need me to know that. If they loved me, they wouldn't do this." He was digging his fingers in to the hem of Fernando's shirt, sobs beginning to wrack his body._

_Fernando held him silently for several minutes, letting him cry in his lap because he knew it was for the best. His own chest felt tight with distress at hearing Sergio cry; he'd never cried around him before. Fernando was the one who would cry and fall apart. Not the other way around._

_"I'm so sorry." He just repeated, at a complete loss. Nothing he said could make anything better for Sergio. "But you're lucky."_

_Sergio tensed at his comment and scrabbled up from his lap, staring at him with tear-stained cheeks._ "Lucky?" _He cried._

_"No, I didn't....I just meant....yes, you're lucky." He spluttered around, trying to explain without Sergio hitting him. "I mean, you have two parents going through something awful and their first instinct is to tell you how much they love you. And....some people....they never get that." He fumbled around for the words. "I didn't mean divorce wasn't terrible. Just that, you're lucky. Because it doesn't matter if your parent's aren't in each other's lives, as long as you're in both of theirs."_

_Sergio didn't look thoroughly convinced, his bottom lip starting to tremble again._

_"You'll get through this." Fernando said quietly, reaching out to him again. "They both love you." And Sergio melted back against him, tucking his head against his chest, Fernando's heartbeat thumping against his ear. Fernando curled his body around him, filled with a sudden urge to protect him. "_ _And, Sergio?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"I love you, too."_


	8. 08/11/2015

Sergio said that Xabi was very fortunate to be alive; that he was no doctor, but his body had gone in to a state of shock and shut down. He said he'd seen it before.

Fernando didn't care. He didn't want to know that Xabi's arm was badly broken or that the gashes in his body would take months to heal - all that mattered was that Xabi had almost been ripped apart, _because of him_. It was all his fault. He could've saved Xabi; he _should've_ saved Xabi because Xabi would've saved him. But he'd been a complete and utter coward and it had nearly cost Xabi his life.

He stopped training and spent his days sat next to Xabi's bed, pleading with him to rouse from his comatose state. Each day that passed without Xabi was another day that he felt he couldn't survive. It was like Sergio all over again.

"I'm so sorry, Xabi. I'm so fucking sorry." He practically sobbed as he clasped Xabi's limp wrist. "This is all my fault. You'll hate me when you wake up but I can't do this without you. I'm just so sorry."

He didn't know how to look after himself, not really. Xabi had been the one to look after him, had kept him safe, had kept him alive and now, he was alone.

Well, not _alone_ alone - there was Sergio. But that didn't mean much at the minute.

"Please, Xabi." He gave his wrist another firm shake. "Please."

"He won't wake up." Sergio sighed from the threshold to Xabi's bedroom.

Fernando ignored him. "I'm so, so sorry. Please."

"He can't hear you. You might as well do something useful and train."

"Shut up!" Fernando cried, sobs beginning to wrack his body again. "Leave us alone!"

And he didn't care that he was being unfair. The raw guilt churning in his chest made him careless and stupid and Sergio should've known to give him some space.

 _Yeah, right._ "Let him be. You can't do anything to help."

"Did you even listen to me? I asked you to leave."

"There's nothing you can do."

But there had to be. There had be something Fernando could do. Otherwise, he'd be faced with the terrifying fact that it was hopeless. "Stop treating me like a child."

"Stop behaving like one."

Sergio knew how to press his buttons - the good and bad ones.

"I'm _trying_ to save my only friend!"

"What about me?"

Fernando snorted, but it was thick with tears. "Don't be stupid. That's my job, remember?"

"You know what, Fer?" Sergio pushed himself away from the door and Fernando dropped Xabi's wrist, standing up from his chair. He approached him until Fernando had no choice to but to look directly at those warm, brown eyes - although warm probably wasn't the correct word to use. "You can be so goddamn pathetic. Grow a fucking backbone."

Fernando was temporarily stunned at the bluntness of Sergio's statement before he felt fresh tears cling to his eyelashes and his fingers began to tremble. "Don't say that to me."

"Why not? Self-pitying isn't attractive."

"And who the hell might I be trying to attract?" This was absurd. His best friend was comatose on the bed and Fernando was engaging in a baited argument with Sergio. Again.

"I don't know."

Fernando knew. "This is about Xabi, isn't it?" He let out a humourless laugh. "And you have the nerve to call me pathetic. Why don't _you-_ " He gave Sergio a firm shove. "-fuck off and leave me alone with _my lover."_

"Fer-"

" _No._ I'm tired of putting up with your shit. Just get out!" He kept shoving Sergio, pushing him until he was over the threshold and then he slammed the door shut, locking it for good measure.

_There's your fucking backbone._

*

Fernando continued begging Xabi to wake for the rest of the day because, at the very least, he felt like he was making an effort. His chest would clench whenever he took in Xabi's poorly bandaged arm - he'd tried his best, but he was no qualified nurse - and the dark bruising on his face. It would clench again whenever he reminded himself that it was all because of him.

It was all useless though; of course it was. Xabi's body had closed up shop and that was that. Nothing Fernando said even registered in his brain.

It was several hours in to the night when Fernando heard a soft knock of the door. He considered ignoring it; yet another confrontation would just about destroy him. Sergio and he never argued when they were dating - maybe that had been part of the problem.

His resolve crumbled when Sergio started to knock against the wood to a rhythm and Fernando realised he was tapping out his favourite _El Canto del Loco_ song. A little frustrated at his own surrender, he went over and unlocked the door. "What?" He sighed.

Sergio shoved his hands in his pockets, looking for all the world like a scolded schoolchild and Fernando half-expected him to apologise. But then; "You should go to bed."

 _Of course not._ "I'm not leaving him alone." There was no debate to be had.

Sergio bit his lip and Fernando could almost see the cogs whirring in his head, holding back the words he undoubtedly wanted to say; _C'mon, Fernando, he isn't going to wake up, not for a long time, you're being silly._ Instead, he said; "I'll watch him."

Fernando eyed him a little suspiciously. "Why?"

"So that you can get some sleep."

Fernando considered the proposition, his body uncomfortable with the strained tension in the air around them. He was kidding himself if he thought he could go without any sleep - he needed all the energy he could get for another round of 'wake-up-Xabi' tomorrow. "Alright." He conceded, leaving the door open and edging past Sergio.

But he was also kidding himself if he thought he was going to get a peaceful night's sleep - his mind was too distressed over the thought of Xabi to give him any rest and he'd been tossing around in bed for almost a full hour before he managed to slip under.

And then, of course his dream was going to be reliving the Creaker attack; only this time, he was watching Xabi get torn apart, limb by limb. Each finger was snapped off, followed by his hands, arms, torso, shoulders, each ear, eye, his nose and then his jaw was ripped open and Fernando was screaming the whole time, stood like an idiot with all the means to stop it from happening but none of the courage.

He realised his screaming must have been real when he was dragged out of the dream by a pair of hands, shaking him awake. He flailed around under the sheets, screams intertwined with sobs as he thought that it was the Creaker clawing at him, having finished with Xabi and about to shred him too before he realised that the hands weren't cold and sharp, they were warm and he met a familiar gaze when he opened his eyes.

"It's me, Fer, it's just me." Sergio's voice reached him and he remembered that he was in his room, in his bed, and that the damp sheets was due to his tears and not Xabi's blood.

A small sob escaped him. "What?"

"Shush, you were having a bad dream." Sergio used the pad of his thumb to wipe away one of the tears sliding down his cheek and then kept it there. Fernando was far too disorientated and distressed to complain. "Whatever is was, it's not real."

 _Except that, Creakers were real. Xabi being attacked was real._ "I...I, um...I can't..." He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to unclog his cotton wool head, his words thick and confused. "I...I still dream about you, sometimes."

 _Oh dear, Fernando. Oh dear, oh dear._ Even his sleep-addled brain couldn't explain that slip of the tongue.

Sergio drew a small circle on the corner of his jaw. "Was that dream about me?" Which was the safest question he could've asked to Fernando's comment.

Fernando shook his head, pulling himself out of the final remnants of his dream and his face out of Sergio's reach. Sergio dropped his hand. He blinked against the darkness of the room, finally able to focus on the present situation and Sergio's figure on the bed next to him. "I...where's Xabi?"

"He's fine, Fer. I'm more worried about you."  

Fernando exhaled in a slow breath and felt his cheeks sting from the salt of his tears. "Don't." _Don't what?_ Hell if Fernando knew.

Neither of them spoke after that, just breathing in the dark room. Fernando could see that Sergio was dithering over whether to leave or not, his hands fiddling nervously on his lap. And, really, Fernando just felt sad.

"Why do we argue so much?" He whispered between them, eyes cast downwards. Because it was only going to be worse now - there was no Xabi to neutralise them. To be the calm to their storm.

"I don't think we would," Sergio began, quietly. "If we didn't still care." And there were a million unsaid words in that statement; _if we'd actually faced the issues that led to our breakup, if we'd found some closure from each other, if we'd handled everything like adults and not like teenagers. If there weren't so many 'what if's' and 'maybe's' still hanging over us._

Fernando would go to his grave denying it, but he knew Sergio was right.

_Damn it._


	9. 09/11/2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been watching 'Toy Story 3' while I write this. Fernando is definitely a Rex. XD There is also no significance for Di Matteo being the one that pops up in here - I was just trying to think of a manager and he comes across as a chill guy.

_"Morning, Fernando."_

_Ana Bonetti greeted him as she pottered out of Dr. Di Matteo's office, her tight perm wobbling on her head. Fernando smiled back._

_"Morning, Ana. How's your daughter?"_

_She gave a scoff of her hand. "Unavailable, per usual. But I'm visiting her in Barcelona next month." She handed in her attendance slip to the receptionist, giving a roll of her eyes to Fernando. "Don't these things always make you feel like you're still in school?" She chuckled. "Worried we'll go off on some lunatic rampage if they don't keep track of us."_

_Fernando laughed along, deciding not to mention that he took therapeutic sessions voluntarily; right now, at least. It had been compulsory for a long time._

_"How's teaching?" Ana continued. She'd been seeing Di Matteo for almost as long as Fernando had._

_He paused on the page of an old_ La Marca _issue he'd been reading. "Not as overwhelming as it used to be."_

_"Found yourself a girlfriend yet?"_

_He hid his smile in the pages of the magazine. "I'm afraid not."_

_Ana huffed, taking the slip back from the receptionist and hoisting her bag further up her shoulder. "Well, remember Marie? I've told you about her before. She recently called off her engagement and I mentioned you just the other day-"_

_"Fernando?" Dr. Di Matteo appeared at his office door, dressed in his signature tweed jacket and loafers._

_Fernando exhaled in relief. He'd been given the matchmaker speech before. "It's been nice to catch up, Ana."_

_"Take care, Fernando." She offered him a departing wave and trooped towards the exit, wobbling on her expensive heels._

_Dr. Di Matteo ushered him in to his office. "Hi, Fernando. How have you been?"_

_"Well." He answered, glancing around the familiar room. He hadn't been here in a while, but Dr. Di Matteo hadn't changed a thing; still the same family pictures, the same coffee machine, the same wilting plant. "And you?"_

_"I've been fine." He gave Fernando a wry smile and indicated the plush armchair near his desk. "Take a seat."_

_Fernando settled down in the armchair, reacquainting himself with the purple velvet and golden tassels. Dr. Di Matteo had a strange taste in furniture; but Fernando quite liked that about him. He watched Dr. Di Matteo hunt through his drawers and bring out a yellow folder with his name paper-clipped to the front._ _"It's been a while since I had a look through this." He commented, peering over at Fernando. "I was surprised to get your call."_

_Fernando shrugged. "I wanted to talk."_

_Dr. Di Matteo hummed under his breath and extracted a few of the documents, flicking through them and asking; "So, tell me. How is your job?"_

_"It's been going better since I made that schedule; like you suggested."_

_"That's good to hear."_

_"I get most of the marking done on time now. And I've even been doing extra preparation for lessons."_

_Dr. Di Matteo stopped on a particular page, scanning through it. "And how are the students? I recall you were struggling with a few."_

_"They're good. And it was just one - Daniela. She's much better now." He gave Dr. Di Matteo a reassuring smile._

_His therapist closed the folder and brought out a new, clean sheet. He noted down a few words. "How is Sergio?"_

_Fernando used to think he was rude; back when he first started coming. Dr. Di Matteo never appeared to be listening; always writing or reading or pondering to himself. But Fernando had learnt over the years that he didn't miss a single syllable. "He's alright. His parents are going through a divorce."_

_"Has that put any strain on your relationship?"_

_Fernando considered the question for a moment. "I don't think so. He's been in Seville a lot but he calls me every night."_

_"Every night?" Dr. Di Matteo glanced at him._

_"Yes."_

_"Why is that?"_

_"Because I asked him to." Fernando didn't think there was anything bizarre about the fact that he liked Sergio to call him each night but his therapist took a note of it._

_"And what do you do while he's away?"_

_Fernando shrugged again. "Wait for him to get back."_

_Dr. Di Matteo took another few notes, before placing the pen down and leaning back in his chair slightly. He scrutinised Fernando for several seconds. "You're quite dependant on him, aren't you?"_

_Fernando was taken aback by the statement and he flushed from embarrassment. "I don't think that's true."_

_His therapist nodded. "That's fair. Why don't you think it's true?"_

_"Because...because, I don't...I...I'm not..." He spluttered and realised how ridiculous he sounded. "Well, why does dependant have to be a bad thing?"_

_"It doesn't." Dr. Di Matteo agreed. "It's important to feel comfortable placing your love and trust in another person. But to be totally dependent on another person is to give yourself to them completely. And if you happened to lose them, then it'll feel like losing yourself too."_

_"I...won't lose him." Fernando tried to reason, uncomfortable._

_"Have you told him that you have a therapist?"_

_"No." He had no idea how Sergio would respond to that knowledge. "B_ _esides, I didn't come here to talk about Sergio. There's nothing wrong with us."_

_Dr. Di Matteo raised his hands in a silent surrender. "Of course. We'll only discuss what you want to discuss. What's been on your mind?"_

_Fernando took a calming breath, meeting the gaze of his therapist. "My mother called me yesterday."_

_"Your mother?" Dr. Di Matteo raised a surprised eyebrow and opened Fernando's file again, hunting around. "You've only seen her once before. Is that right?"_

_"Yes." His voice was quiet._

_"And what happened?"_

_Fernando rooted around for a long forgotten memory. "I think I was seven. She came to the foster home I was in, wanting to see me. It took a long time; it was several months before she was allowed."_

_"And what did she do?"_

_He released a small laugh. "Took me out for ice-cream."_

_Dr. Di Matteo tapped his finger against his chin. "And then, nothing?"_

_"No. She took me back to the foster home and I never saw her again."_

_"How does that make you feel?"_

_They'd spoken a lot about his mother before in previous sessions; this was all familiar territory. "I don't care, really. She didn't care either. I don't think she was bothered about seeing me. I think she just wanted to clear her own conscious; check that I was fine, and then she could move on, knowing that I was alright."_

_Another few notes were jotted down. "What did she say to you?"_

_"She told me that she tracked me down through the school. And that she'd like to see me."_

_Dr. Di Matteo made another thoughtful noise, underlining a sentence he'd written in thick marker. "Would you like to see her?"_

_There were so many other questions hidden within that one query and Fernando didn't really know which one it was that his therapist was asking. "I don't think so." He whispered. "She wants to meet me, at a café. This afternoon. But I don't want to."_

_"I think that's perfectly acceptable, Fernando." Dr. Di Matteo comforted in a soft voice. "You felt abandoned at a young age. It's alright to feel like you don't owe her anything."_

_"But she's my mother?"_

_Dr. Di Matteo nodded. "She is. And you have decide whether that means anything."_

_*_

_In the end, Fernando decided to go. He'd thought about Sergio and what he'd do and, well - Sergio would go. He knew it._

_Waiting in the café was pure torture. His mother was half an hour late and his nerves had been completely shredded, so much so that a couple of the waiters were giving him strange looks. He was even beginning to think that she'd decided not to show._

_And when she did appear - all blonde hair and fur coat - she glanced around at all the tables with a confused expression on her face, clearly at a loss for which person was her son. It felt like a cricket bat to the stomach._

_He stood up, his palms sweating. "Ma?"_

_She looked over at him, surprised. "Oh. Fernando?"_

_"Yeah. It's me." It felt wrong that he even had to tell her. He'd known it was her the minute she stepped in to the café._

_His mother sidled over to him, her face completely impassive. "Gosh, you're so old. What are you, twenty?" She gave him a peck on the cheek with her bubblegum lipstick and then took the seat opposite him._

Well, it has been a while. _"Twenty-five." He corrected, watching as his mother removed her coat to reveal a lacy shirt. She flicked through the menu with an unimpressed expression, before putting it down and flashing a smile._

_"I wouldn't have chosen this place if I'd known it was so bland." She tried to joke and the situation was just so bizarre because he was sat opposite a woman that he'd only met twice in his life before and she was attempting to act as if they met on a daily basis. "So, you work at a school?"_

No messing around then. _"Yes."_

_"What do you specialise in?"_

_Fernando just blinked. "Specialise?"_

_"Yes." His mother waved her arms around in exaggeration. "What subject do you specialise in?"_

_"I don't. I'm an elementary school teacher."_

_"Oh." It was clear she didn't know how to respond. "That sounds....nice."_

_"It is." He said defensively. "What do you do?"_

_She allowed a giggle to slip then. "Oh, sweetie, I don't work." She stretched her hand out across the table, revealing manicured fingernails and a ring. "I got married last year. Jose's an editor in chief. He told me that no woman of his would work."_

_"That sounds....nice." He decided to repeat._

_His mother tried to laugh off his comment but there was a slight edge to her voice. "And you? Are you married?"_

_"No." He said, and was tempted to leave it at that. But he watched as his mother ordered from the waitress with her simpering and superior attitude and the impulse rose in him. "I am in a relationship."_

_"Oh, how lovely." His mother answered distractedly, sipping from the lemon water she'd ordered. "What's she like?"_

_"He's perfect."_

_The choke that escaped his mother sent a small twinge of satisfaction through him. "Fernando!" She dapped at her spluttering lips with the serviette. "Really? Were you not raised better?"_

_"Maybe you should have raised me yourself if you believe the outcome to be so inadequate."_

_Her eyes widened at his blunt statement and she composed herself with straightened shoulders. "Now, Fernando. I didn't come here for this."_

_"Then why did you come here? To insult me?"_

_"Of course not." She shot back, and a few glances were sent their way from other diners. "I just thought I'd given birth to better than a gay childminder."_

_"This was a stupid idea." Fernando said aloud and pushed himself up from the table, fixing his mother with the sternest look he'd ever given in his life - even his students didn't extract_ this _look from him. "I can't change the fact that you're my mother. But my therapist was right - that doesn't mean anything to me now. I have a new family and they're what's important. Not you; never you."_

 _He picked up his coat and left the café, ignoring his mother's demands of; "You have a bloody therapist_ too?"

_All the brief determination in his body left him as soon as he arrived back at his apartment and left him physically drained. He took a long shower and wrapped himself up in a blanket on the sofa, drinking hot chocolate. But it didn't make the nauseating feeling in his stomach disappear._

_Things only got worse when Sergio didn't call him that night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10/11/2015 - I'm so, so sorry. I've had to travel down to my hometown today because of a family member and I can't update my next chapter. It's written though and will be updated tomorrow as soon as I get back! PLUS the 11/11/2015 chapter. So, double update! Really sorry, again.


	10. 10/11/2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> In case anybody missed my note, I had a family emergency and had to head down to my hometown for a couple of days which has thrown my schedule off. I've just got back around half an hour ago and this is the chapter that I should've posted on the 10th November (which is when I wrote it). Of course, this all means I haven't a chance to write the two chapters that should've been up today and yesterday. I promise to catch up as soon as possible! It'll take a couple of days of double updates (I'm going to try and upload yesterday's and today's chapter tomorrow and then do the same for Saturday and then we should be back on schedule, yay!) Goddamn family crisis's, ruining my NaNoWriMo! (; 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter (:

_Fernando lasted through the night before he cracked and called Sergio._

_He rang him four times in quick succession and Sergio didn't pick up once.Panic sliced through like a knife until he felt physically ill and tremors shook his body. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a fit of anxiety this bad before. He curled up in the corner of his apartment, rocking backwards and forwards and called again._

_It had almost gone to voicemail when the ringing cut and an irritated voice broke through._

_"What?"_

_Fernando couldn't even feel relief that his calls were being answered - he'd never heard Sergio sound that annoyed with him before. "I...I've been calling you for ages." His voice sounded small and pitiful, even to his own ears._

_"I know. I'm very busy, Fernando." Sergio using his full name wasn't a good sign either._

_Several tears pushed their way from behind his eyes and began to roll down his cheeks. "You didn't call me last night."_

_Sergio released a sigh of frustration. "I'm dealing with a divorce, Fernando. My parents won't even be in the same room as each other to settle the negotiations. My sister has just had a breakdown. Do you honestly think I have time to be looking after you too?"_

_"No, that's not...I didn't mean-"_

_"I know that it's not what you meant but it's what you're doing."_

_Fernando held back the urge to simply sob and tried to choke out a response. "I just need you."_

_"Just let me get on. Please." And he cut the call, leaving Fernando a mess on his kitchen floor._

_He went to bed and stayed in it for the whole day; there was no way he could face stepping outside after that. Not a chance. He had issues - he'd had them his whole life - and Fernando knew that they'd suddenly been forced to the front when he thought he'd suppressed them long ago._

_But Sergio and he had never argued before. He wasn't even sure if that counted as an argument; if anything, it felt like Sergio had been telling him off, like an unreasonable child. But he didn't understand what he'd done that was so wrong; he didn't understand why things like 'dependant' and 'attached' were bad things._

_And it made his head hurt to think about it so he tried to sleep through the day instead, having intermittent bursts of exhaustion and panic all at the same time. He dozed on and off, his pillow damp with tears when the familiar sound of a key being turned in the lock reached his ears. For a split second, he considered the possibility that his awful day had got even worse and his apartment was being broken in to before realising that, of course, a burglar didn't have his keys and that it was most likely Sergio._

_That thought wasn't particularly comforting either and he snuggled down under the sheets, curling in to a tight ball._

_"Fer?"_

_His name was called through the apartment and he hid further, bringing the duvet up to his ears._

_A slither of light slipped in to the bedroom as the door was cracked open. There was a small sigh. "Fer?"_

_He grumbled something along the lines of 'leave me alone' but the words were lost in the pillow. He didn't even know if he wanted Sergio to leave him alone and that was proven when he felt only relief at Sergio removing his coat and shoes and joining him in the bed. He managed to wheedle himself under the duvet and the heat from his body hit Fernando immediately, causing his ball-shape to soften at the edges._

_"Fer? I'm sorry." Sergio nosed behind his ear, warm hands prompt in seeking out Fernando's skin and dragging up and down his bare arms. "I'm sorry. I need you, too."_

_There was a rough edge to his voice that had Fernando flushing and he was glad to have his back to Sergio._

_"I need you." Sergio repeated against Fernando's neck, tongue poking out to catch a couple of rogue freckles. Quick as anything, he curled one hand in to his hair and another past the waistband of his pyjama trousers and caused Fernando's breath to hitch. “I need you, so badly.”_

_Fernando bit his lip and grabbed hold of Sergio's wrist, unsure whether he wanted to help increase the pace or pull the hand out altogether._

_"Fer? Talk to me." Sergio moved the hand from his hair and rolled him over so that Fernando had no choice but to look at him. He looked exhausted but his eyes were dark and pleading. “I’m sorry, Fer. I’ve had a shit week.” Sergio bent down to steal a kiss, slipping his tongue in to Fernando’s mouth almost straight away and moaning softly. “Please?”_

_And Fernando decided that he’d had a shit week too and there wasn’t anything wrong with physical solace._

_He discovered pretty quickly that this wasn't going to be like all the other times; this wasn't slow or heady or loving. It was a mess of needy and reckless touches; of painful moans too often sounding like sobs; of fingers gripping hard enough to leave bruises; of desperate, frantic thrusts. And before Fernando even had a chance to recover, Sergio had caught a nipple between his teeth and was starting in on him again._

_It took hours for Sergio to run out of energy and he eventually collapsed on Fernando's stomach, seemingly unbothered by the mess all over it, and passed out within seconds. Fernando stroked his hair absently and tried not to think about the fact that maybe Sergio didn't need Fernando the way that Fernando needed him, that maybe he'd just been looking for some comfort sex._

_It was harder to ignore the thought in the morning when he woke up to an empty bed and a note that read;_ I had to head back to Seville. I shouldn't be too much longer. Thank you, for last night.

_Fernando spent the rest of the day feeling like a cheap whore rather than a boyfriend._

_*_

A week passed and Xabi did not wake.

And everything was beginning to go wrong. Fernando didn't know how to do half the things Xabi did to keep the treehouse up and running; he'd never been trusted enough to be taught. And every time he tried to do something - chopping and drying out the firewood, scrubbing down the rot, cooking - something would go awfully wrong and he'd storm off in frustration, cursing the axe or the cloth or the wooden spoon.

He didn't even had a purpose for his one and only chore; fetching the water samples. But he did, anyway - for when Xabi woke up.

And he finally began to understand that there really was nothing he could do. Xabi had sustained fairly serious injuries and would wake up when his body was ready, not before; and neither he nor Sergio had any idea of how long that could be.

He took to writing down in his journal far more than usual. Whereas before he'd written a few sentences for each day, he was covering several pages in just a couple of hours. He talked about Xabi and his worries that he might never wake up, that Fernando had lost him forever. He wrote about the infection and everything Xabi had told him. He wrote about the Creakers and even attached a small sketch from what he could remember; his brain had done a rather good job at suppressing the memory. And he wrote about Sergio, for the first time.

He was at a loss at how best to introduce Sergio to his journal until he decided to simply start at the beginning, and wrote down all his memories of their relationship - their first meeting, their first date, their first Christmas, their first conversation about 'the future'. There was almost something therapeutic about the process. His chest felt lighter and lighter with each memory that he unloaded on the journal. It had been a long time coming.

He hadn't quite convinced himself to finish covering the breakdown of their relationship but that felt alright, for now. There was time for all of that business.

Sergio had managed to lure him out for a few more training sessions too, hassling and hassling until Fernando gave in. And while Fernando would much rather sit and write next to Xabi's bedside, he knew how much more important it suddenly was for him to learn how to fight.

The lack of noticeable progress continued to make the whole thing feel utterly frustrating though. Sergio would instruct and demonstrate and instruct again and Fernando would just fail. There was no sign of improvement.

"I'm trying!" He finally cracked at Sergio's demand that he do the whole exercise again, for the third time. His arm was throbbing from throwing knife after knife at the homemade target board and not managing a single hit.

"Clearly not hard enough. Try again."

 _Maybe he'd be better if Sergio was the target,_ he pondered to himself as he trudged over to collect the fallen knives. "There isn't any point. This isn't the problem."

From a few metres away, Sergio sniggered. "You can't even hit the board, Fernando. I think this is a problem."

"I know that." Fernando glared at him. "I meant that it wasn't any lack of weapons expertise that got Xabi hurt. It was me. Freezing."

Sergio stared at him for a few moments. "Yes."

"That's all you can say? Thanks." Fernando said, mooching back towards him.

Sergio shrugged. "What do you want me to do? Lie? Yes, Fernando - you froze."

"And throwing bloody knives around doesn't help that."

"I don't know what do about you freezing, Fer." Sergio said, hastily continuing before Fernando could scold him. "That's psychological. I'm not a therapist. All I can do is help make you as capable as possible so that you can protect yourself." He added; "If you freeze again, you'll probably die."

Fernando stood in front of him, lining himself up for his next shots and muttered; "I don't know why you'd care."

It was a childish remark and he knew it - but Sergio just elicited these responses from him like a reflex.

"You're being ridiculous."

"So, you would care?" _And why was he engaging? Idiot._

From just behind him, he heard Sergio snort. "Oh, was I meant to dignify that ridiculous comment with an answer? Yes, of course I'd care, Fernando. You're the one thing I have left."

"You don't _have_ me." He said hotly, spinning around to face Sergio. He realised when Sergio took a step back that he was holding one of the knives aloft and quickly lowered it.

Sergio rolled his shoulders and then gave a shrug. "Okay, whatever. Throw the knives."

Fernando turned around, lifted the knife, lined it up - and then dropped his arm and turned back around. "So, your family...?" He trailed off, unable to ask any further and wanting to maintain at least a little tact. "Daniela?"

Sergio chewed his lip. "They're all dead. If that's what you were going to ask."

"I'm sorry." Fernando whispered, feeling his gut twist unpleasantly. "I'm really, really sorry." And he truly meant it; Sergio's family were the closest he'd ever come to one. And this was the first time that the consequences of the apocalypse really hit him, like a slap to the face.

"Don't be. They didn't Turn. They were lucky." Sergio just said; there was such sadness in his voice that Fernando acted on an ingrained response and took a sudden step forward to hug him - filled with the desperate urge to console him - when the unmistakable sound of an explosion ripped through the air.

Sergio shoved him to the ground and his chin smacked on the dry grass, the knife sliding clumsily from his fingers. There was blood in his mouth as his ears rang and he felt Sergio’s hand on his back, keeping him pressed to the ground. The earth was shuddering underneath him and he glanced up through the haze covering his eyes, peering in the near distance.

And watched as his treehouse began to go up in flames.


	11. 11/11/2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying super hard to get back on schedule after the "crisis" but I don't want to rush the chapters. I'll still be getting some double updates up, it's just when.
> 
> I'll write the next chapter ASAP but it might be up quite late tonight because I'll be watching the Spain/England match. If not, it'll be up tomorrow morning/early afternoon. Along with (hopefully) the next chapter, and then I'll only be one behind.

_Xabi._

Fernando was scrabbling to his feet before the ground had even stopped shaking, his vision wobbling from side to side.

A hand clasped around his ankle, hindering him temporarily. _"Fer, don't even think about it-!"_

He kicked out and hit Sergio square in the jaw, too distressed to feel any guilt and pushed himself up. He'd let Xabi almost die once before; he couldn't make that mistake again. And so he was off, running towards the treehouse, unbalanced from his blurred vision and ringing ears. He fell over once or twice, knees smacking against the dirt but he was up just as quickly.

He pushed through the thick smoke that was beginning to cloud, vaguely aware that half of the treehouse had been blown to smithereens and the other half was on fire. Shards of wood and glass littered the ground at his feet and he navigated himself through as fast as he possibly could, praying to God that the ladder had been left intact.

His hands sought out the wooden rungs, gripping them until his knuckles strained against the skin and he clambered up; he was finally grateful for having been sent out on so many water sample trips because the location of each rung against the tree had been firmly memorised. His limbs were aching as he hauled himself over on to the deck and threw open the front door.

It was like stepping in to an oven; the heat erupted from the treehouse and almost caused him to topple backwards and over the edge. It felt like breathing it in would melt his lungs and the thick smoke was seeping under his pores, clogging up his cells and fatiguing him. Fernando pulled his sleeve over his hand and held it to his mouth, shoving his way through the burning treehouse.

The flames licked dangerously close to his shoulders as he stumbled down the corridor, eyes watering at the smog and he made the huge mistake of grasping the handle on the door to Xabi's bedroom - his palm screamed in agony as his skin began to blister against the scolding heat of the metal handle and he bit back a cry, settling for barging the door open with his shoulder.

The walls of the bedroom were beginning to strain against the fire and smoke and Fernando could hear the wood groaning. He had ten minutes; if that. 

He shut the door to keep the flames out for as long as possible and dragged the duvet off of Xabi's unconscious - but thankfully, still alive - body and pushed it against the cracks to hold back the smoke. His hand protested and he glanced down to see his skin peeling and an angry rash beginning to spread over his skin.  There would be time for that, later.

His number one priority was making sure that both he and Xabi survived this. But there was no way he'd be able to drag Xabi down the corridor and down the ladder in time, or without burning all the skin off of him. The only other choice was the window.

He picked up the lamp off the bedside table and hurled it at the window. It crunched against the glass and broke through, whistling through the air and thudding against the ground. Fernando used the back of his hand to knock away the remaining, jagged edges of glass until he was satisfied that both he and Xabi could fit through without having too much of their skin ripped off.

The wooden walls of the bedroom were sinking inwards and the ceiling - half of which had been blown off - was crumbling.

"Sorry about this," He told Xabi and rolled him off the bed, wincing at the impact his body made with the wooden floor. With both hands, he clutched the mattress and hauled it across the room. It took a momentous amount of pushing and shoving to feed the mattress through the window and Fernando was fairly certain that he'd sprained both of his shoulders but it eventually slipped through. He poked his head out the window to see it land in a puff of dust on the dry grass below, as near to the treehouse as it could be without catching fire.

Somehow - through his panic-addled brain - he was able to work through everything relatively calmly and grabbed Xabi's wrists, bumping him across the floor too, trying to figure out the best way to fit him through without damaging anything.

In the end, he decided that feet first was best; better to have broken legs than a broken neck. It was what he told himself, at least, to keep from feeling guilty as he popped both of Xabi's legs out the window and lifted his heavy torso up and over.

An awful few seconds passed as Xabi's body dropped through the air like a rag dog and Fernando wondered whether the impact would just cause his body to tear straight through the mattress. But there was a soft thump as Xabi's body landed on the cushion and Fernando exhaled in relief.

Now that Xabi was safe - or, safer than he had been in the treehouse - Fernando knew he couldn't leave without attempting to retrieve a few items. He dragged the bag out from under Xabi's bed; it was a thick, heavy bag that Xabi had stored away in case of an emergency and wouldn't let Fernando touch under any other circumstances.

Fernando was pretty sure this counted as an emergency.

He chucked in the first aid-kit, the torch and the box of matches Xabi had tucked away in his drawers, before slinging it over his shoulder and kicking the duvet away from the door. Smoke began to heave in to the room in copious volumes and burned the back of Fernando's eyelids, causing him to cough and splutter against the sleeve of his shirt.

He considered the possibility that walking back out in to the corridor was the stupidest idea he could come up with; but then, the ceiling above collapsed and the decision was made for him. He sprinted back down the corridor, positive that his hair and eyelashes were being singed by the flames that licked up the walls and burst in to his own bedroom.

The walls had completely splintered and he tried to avoid slicing his stomach open as he kneeled down by his bed, feeling around underneath the mattress for his journal and shoving it in to the bag. Even if there had been time to round up some food and water, the kitchen had been lost to the explosion - he had nothing left to do except run.

So he did; he hurled himself down the corridor like a rocket. If the fire hadn't been roaring so loudly in his ear canal, he would've heard the floorboards cracking underneath his feet. It was probably best that he didn't.

He tumbled through the front door and was straight down the ladder, listening to the treehouse fall apart above him. He was halfway down when the ladder snapped and the breath was slapped out of him as his back hit the hard ground. He glanced around, disorientated, for several beats until he noticed that the treehouse was crumpling in on itself and was seconds away from tumbling to the ground, like a large fireball.

He evacuated the spot almost as soon as a sharp, plank of wood whistled through the air and dug itself in the ground where his head had been moments ago. The bag was lopsided on his sprained shoulders but there was no time to adjust; he manoeuvred himself past the debris and was thankful to find that Xabi was still sprawled across the mattress and hadn't been stolen away by wild animals. Although he wasn't entirely sure what wild animals existed just outside of Madrid.  

They were still near enough to the treehouse to be at risk of a catapulting wood plank or shard of glass and Fernando clutched Xabi's hands and began to drag him across the ground and away from the treehouse. Almost all of his energy expenditure had been well and truly used up by this point though and he was gritting his teeth through the burn to haul Xabi and himself to safety.

His shoulders and hand were blinding him with pain and he'd managed around four metres before he collapsed backwards, beginning to sob.

"Xabi, please! I need you to wake up!" He started to shake Xabi harder than he'd even consider shaking Sergio, filled with the desperation to have Xabi awake and in control of the situation; Xabi would know what to do, he always knew what to do.

"Xabi! Xabi! Xabi! Xabi-"

A hand closed over his mouth and cut across Fernando's screaming. His hands tried to seek out a rock to use as a weapon before someone familiar spoke in his ear.

"Don't kick me again." Sergio said and Fernando could hear that his voice was thick with blood. "And stop screaming. They'll hear you."

Fernando struggled to remove the hand from his mouth but it was hopeless. "Who?" He asked, muffled.

"I found some discarded gas canisters'. This fire wasn't an accident, Fer." Sergio finally took his hand away and pulled Fernando to his feet. "Someone knew you were here."

 _But I don't know anybody,_ Fernando wanted to shout but knew that Sergio was just cover his mouth again. He noticed Sergio's split lip and bruised jaw and had the decency to feel a pang of guilt. There'd be time for apologies later.

"What do we do, Sergio?" Fernando turned to him. His treehouse had been destroyed, his livelihood had - quite literally - gone up in flames and his best friend was still deep in a coma; Sergio was his final option now.

"You take the bag, I'll take Xabi." Sergio heaved Xabi up and threw him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift.

 _"But what do we do?"_ Fernando stressed, watching as the last of his treehouse slumped to the floor in a final, miserable demise.

Sergio glanced around in the thick smoke, picking out a spot to the east. "We run."

 


	12. 12/11/2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In solidarity with Paris.

Fernando pressed the wet rag against Sergio's split lip, eliciting a moan of discomfort.

"Quit it." He scolded. "It's just a scratch."

"Yeah; that _you_ gave me." Sergio grumbled but allowed Fernando to wipe at the blood. He tried to be as delicate as possible but resources were limited and the material of the rag was rough.

"I'm sorry." Fernando said, his voice low. They were sat on the flattest rock they'd been able to find after running for almost a solid hour. The volume of smoke that Fernando had inhaled had reduced him to a coughing wreck and he'd been unable to go on any further. Sergio was clearly agitated at how little distance they'd managed to cover but there was no point travelling any further and Fernando had convinced him to set up a small camp near the river.

"You were going to stop me." He added, as if it was a reasonable justification was kicking Sergio in the face. "And I couldn't let Xabi die." He glanced over at his friend as he spoke, who they'd lain down on the softest patch of grass they could find and used Fernando's coat as a makeshift pillow.

"I know." Sergio said as Fernando finished up on his lip and dipped the rag back in the cold water - they'd had to wait a long time for the water to cool after heating off the infection. "You were rash. It's how people get themselves killed."

Fernando held the chilled rag against the bruising on Sergio's jaw, finding simultaneous relief in his burned hand. "I guess I was lucky." _Lucky. They kept using that word; he didn't feel particularly lucky with his battered body, comatose friend and an ex-boyfriend as his only source of company._ "How do you know it wasn't a boiler that caused the explosion?"

"Unless Creepers-"

"Creakers."

"- _Creakers_ have learnt how to make gas bombs, then it was definitely a person. Or people. The gas canisters' weren't a coincidence."

Fernando shifted uncomfortably at the thought. "Who would want to hurt us?" He asked. Water and Creakers - they were the dangers in this apocalyptic world. Not _people._ Sergio didn't answer and Fernando decided to push further. "It was people that hurt you. Wasn't it? Do you think it was them?"

Sergio sighed and pushed the rag away from his jaw. He made a move to stand up. "It doesn't matter."

Fernando grabbed at his wrist with his unharmed hand. "It does, to me." Dusk had fallen rapidly on them and made it hard for Fernando to figure out Sergio's expression. "Please, tell me." He pleaded.

 _"It doesn't matter."_ Sergio repeated.

"Don't you trust me?"

Sergio pulled his wrist out of Fernando's hand. There was a shake in his voice when he said; "Do I trust someone who refused to disclose their mental state to me? Do I trust someone who left me - alone - in Madrid? Do I trust someone who allowed me to believe they'd been kidnapped or murdered or had committed suicide because they decided to pack up and disappear without any word? No, Fernando; funnily enough, I don't trust you."

Fernando was left speechless at Sergio's sudden outburst. He watched Sergio pour water on the fire to put it out, mumbling something about the smoke attracting Creakers, until he managed to find his voice. _"Why d'you keep saying that?"_ He stood up angrily, dropping the rag on the ground. "You're lying!"

"About what?" Sergio kicked one of the logs with the scuff of his shoes.

"Me! Our relationship! You keep saying I left you!" They'd had this discussion so many times, they were just going round in circles.

Sergio gave him a look. "You did."

 _"You_ broke up with _me!"_ He spluttered, outraged at both the truth and deceit in Sergio's words. "I'm not... _your property_ after you decide to end things! We were over." He finished, more quietly.

"Over?" Sergio snorted in disbelief. "We weren't over; we still aren't. Why d'you think we keep blowing up at each other?"

"Stop...stop derailing the conversation." Fernando responded, frustrated with the direction of the argument. "We broke up. There's no psychoanalysing that; you finished the relationship."

Sergio released a slow breath, before nodding. "Yeah, I did. And it was the right thing to do." Fernando scoffed and Sergio tightened his jaw. "We were a fucking mess, Fernando. A train wreck waiting to happen. But we weren't over _._ "

"Oh, of course - I forgot how ambiguous _'I want to breakup'_ could be. My mistake." His voice was cold.

"We needed time from each other." Sergio continued as if Fernando hadn't spoken. "Our relationship had finished, but _we_ hadn't. We could've tried again; once we'd dealt with all the issues and the secrets and the pressure. We still can, Fer."

Sergio closed the distance between them and Fernando knew what he was going to do before he'd even reached him. He backed up but his feet hit the stone that they'd been sitting on and he was trapped as Sergio cupped the back of his neck and dragged their mouths together.

Fernando reacted with a strangled choke but it went unheard as Sergio swallowed it up in the kiss, nipping softly at his lower lip and exhaling slowly through his nose; as if he'd been holding his breath for this whole time and had only just remembered how to release it. The hand around his neck began to rub small circles in to his skin and the other slid up in to his hair, clutching desperately at the strands.

And god help him, Fernando had missed this; the tang of blood in his mouth was a background nuisance as Sergio worked open his lips, sliding his tongue in to catch a taste and managing to extract a reluctant mewl. His fingers were flexing and relaxing against Sergio's shoulders in earnest and Sergio took the opportunity to push the kiss deeper, moaning against his mouth as their noses rubbed.

And Fernando felt himself begin to cry - tears spilling from behind his closed eyes - and he shoved against Sergio's chest, his hands hard and unforgiving. "Stop, please, stop." His words were muffled but the sudden tension in his figure relayed the message clear enough and Sergio pulled away, just slightly.

"What's wrong?" He asked and swiped his tongue across Fernando's lower lip.

"No, just stop." Fernando was shaking and he could feel a panic-attack begin to rise in him, felt the familiar loss of control in his body. He pushed and pushed and pushed until Sergio's hands were off him and he felt a safe distance away. "What the _fuck_ are you playing at? Is this some kind of joke to you?" His knees were giving and he knew he was close to collapsing, the panic seizing him with surprising haste. "I can't go through all this again. You can't do this."

"Fer, calm down-"

"And _stop_ calling me that! Just stop!" For the first time since he'd escaped Madrid, he felt desperate for his therapist. "You think it's alright for you to insult me and tell me you don't trust me, and then kiss me? You're completely fucked up!"

Sergio had appeared initially lost at Fernando's sudden descent in to one of his panic-attacks but his eyes got darker at Fernando's comment and he responded bitterly; "I guess it takes one to know one."

He struck a nerve and Fernando was reaching for the first-aid kit without thinking, hurling it towards Sergio. It seemed the target practice had been worth it after all as Sergio was smacked across the face. The first-aid kit wasn't hard but it caused his cut lip to split open again. Then Fernando picked up the torch, sending it straight at Sergio's shoulder. He realised afterwards that he had no other objects to throw - unless he was insane enough to send his journal Sergio's way too - and he sunk to the ground, holding his knees to him lest he fall apart on the outside too.

"I don't understand what you want from me," He sobbed against the denim of his jeans, rocking backwards and forwards. "I never understood what you wanted from me." He added in a quieter voice.

_And that was just it, wasn't it?_

"It sure as hell wasn't this." Sergio muttered in annoyance, wiping at his lip with the back of his hand. "Work through your fucking issues, Fernando. I'm tired of having to deal with them when you're not bothering to." And he did sound tired. He sounded positively exhausted.

Fernando stared at the ground for a while, counting the blades of grass before it became too dark and he stood up on shaky legs and walked off. He felt Sergio's eyes on his back as he left but he wasn't called to return and he was glad of it; he needed some space, somewhere else, to calm down.

He wandered for a long time through the woods, his feet crunching on the ground and vaguely aware that he could be attacked by a Creaker or another person without any means to defend himself. But the concern remained untouched at the back of his head and he continued to wander, night falling around him and making it hard to navigate. His gaze fixed on a small source of illumination in the distance and he headed for it, popping out next to a basin of water.

Fernando's breath caught as he took in the mirrored surface of the pond, as clear as it was possible for water to be and the realisation struck him that this was uninfected water. _Uninfected water;_ the likes of which Fernando hadn't seen since the apocalypse began. He hadn't even believed it still existed.

Toeing off his shoes and rolling up his jeans, he tested the depth of the pond and, with a quick glance around, shed himself of all his clothes and sank in to the water.

Some desperately needed solace seeped in to his skin as he dipped his head underneath the surface and felt the water embrace him like a blanket. It felt like months ago that he'd been sleeping in his treehouse bed when really, it had only been this morning. And it all gone now. Survival had become just that much harder.

But none of that mattered when he was underneath the water - he could forget about it all and just feel his toes sink in to the mud and water sludge around in his ears and his hair. When he'd grown tired of wallowing, he swam a few lengths and then dragged his clothes in to the water, washing off the mud and blood and soot from the day's events.

He laid them out to dry on a nearby rock, before stretching himself out on the bank near the pond, picking out the stars from behind the treetops.

And things - for now, at least - were feeling a little better.


	13. 13/11/2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It takes me so long to write a chapter, I don't know how I'm going to get two written in one day! I'll do my best to catch us up ASAP.
> 
> Enjoy chapter 13!

_Sergio remained in Seville for another week before Fernando received a quick text that read;_ I'm heading back tonight.

_Fernando's fingers hovered over the buttons on his phone for almost a whole minute until he decided to put his phone face down on his kitchen counter and ignore the message altogether. Sergio hadn't called him at all over the past week and Fernando had felt his fragile composure fracture with each day that passed but he couldn't relapse now._

_He'd spoken to Dr. Di Matteo and taken his advice; he'd left Sergio alone all week, no calls or texts or voicemails. It had been unbearable but his therapist had told him that he needed to know what his and Sergio's boundaries were in the relationship and Fernando had to let Sergio take the reins on that - he was the one feeling overwhelmed. And, well, Dr. Di Matteo was the professional. Fernando had to trust him._

_So, he ignored the message and curled back up on the sofa, watching_ Final Destination _and marking his student's work._

_Two days passed and Fernando continued with his usual routine; morning jogs and teaching and old, Hollywood films - all the while ignoring Sergio's increasingly frequent phone calls. He resorted to pulling the cord from his landline and the battery from his mobile when it all became too much for him to handle._

_It was the third morning when Sergio cracked and Fernando stepped out of the shower to the sound of loud knocking against his apartment door. He dragged on a t-shirt and sweatpants with a trembling exhalation and counted to ten, before clicking the door open._

_"Hi." He said as he came face to face with Sergio. It was the longest he'd gone without him since they'd started dating and he felt the gravitational pull between them, stronger than he was sure it had ever been._

_"Hi?" Sergio repeated, his voice incredulous. Fernando didn't respond and so Sergio just subtly shook his head and grabbed his shoulders, crushing their lips together._

_He shoved them both backwards in to Fernando's apartment and Fernando jumped as the door was kicked shut behind them. Sergio's fingers were harsh against the thin material of his shirt but his mouth was even harder; equal parts vindictive and frustrated and desperate. And Fernando let Sergio rip his clothes off of him, let him bite and mark his skin with unforgiving teeth and let himself to be fucked in to his own sofa._

_He felt pretty lousy afterwards and stared at the pile of clothes that had been carelessly discarded on the floor as Sergio rested his head against his chest. He would've pushed him off if their sweaty limbs weren't so tangled. More than anything, he felt broken - as if Sergio was no longer interested in_ him _but in what he could be used for._

_"Is this all you came for?" He eventually asked when it appeared that Sergio wasn't going to do anything except trace a finger around his nipple._

_Sergio's warm breath sent small shivers down his skin when he spoke. "I came because you were ignoring my calls."_

_"You ignored mine." He said and the words were out there before he could reconsider them. Sergio froze on top of him and pushed himself up on to his hands, looking down at Fernando._

_"So this was, what? You getting revenge?" He demanded and Fernando squirmed underneath him, ready to shoot down the accusation._

_Until, of course, he realised that Sergio was right. This wasn't what Dr. Di Matteo had meant for him to do at all, and Fernando knew it. He'd felt like he had no control over their relationship - that all rested in Sergio's hands - and he'd needed him to feel that. He'd needed Sergio to feel as lost as Fernando did because he didn't know how else he could take even an inch of control back for himself._

_And it felt petty and it felt cruel but their relationship was falling apart and Fernando felt like he wasn't being given any power to stop it._

_"It wasn't_ revenge." _He still decided to refute hotly, leaning up on his elbows. "I just...my therapist said-"_

 _"Your_ therapist?" _Sergio spluttered. "You have a therapist?"_

_Fernando closed his eyes. "Yes." He confessed._

_Sergio pushed himself off of Fernando completely and there was an unwelcome flicker of sadness in his gaze. "Did I make you need a therapist?"_

_"No, no." Fernando sat up too with a desperate shake of his head. "No, I've had Dr. Di Matteo for years. It wasn't you-"_

_His comment only seemed to make things worse; Sergio choked slightly and stood up from the sofa, reaching for his jeans without bothering to search for his underwear._

_"Sergio, please, let me explain." Fernando tried to explain, his voice breaking badly at his own plea. Sergio ignored him, zipping up his jeans and pulling on his t-shirt and Fernando tried again. "Please, let me explain."_

_"Explain?" Sergio rounded on him and Fernando had never felt so vulnerable, naked and shaking underneath Sergio's fiery gaze. "I don't fucking believe you! You've had ten months to_ explain _to me that_ _you've been seeing a therapist? You've been lying to me!"_

_"No, no, I haven't, I hadn't seen him for ages-"_

_"You haven't been honest with me, Fer! Why the hell do you need a therapist?" He demanded. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"_

_It was like a slap across the face. "I...there's nothing_ wrong _with me." He choked back, his chest heaving. "Don't say that."_

_"Oh, I'm sorry, did I hurt your fragile feelings?" Sergio's voice was as sharp as a knife and it felt like it was slicing straight through Fernando's heart. "I'm beyond caring, Fer. I honestly am." He picked up his shoes, not bothering to put them on. "Don't call me."_

_And he walked back out the door, the walls shaking as he slammed it shut behind him._

_*_

Fernando didn't tell Sergio where he'd gone when he returned to their makeshift camp and Sergio didn't ask. He'd thought a lot down near the pond and had decided that whatever personal vendetta's Sergio and he had against each other were, from now on, their lowest priority; survival was what mattered. And - unfortunately - they needed each other to survive.

Well, Sergio could probably survive without Fernando. But he needed Sergio and that meant that he had to forget about their history, for now.

 _No more arguments,_ he'd told himself. _No more shouting and blaming and crying._ They'd been doing that since he'd found Sergio and had it helped? Had their relationship improved at all?

It really was time for him to start behaving like an adult.

So, he went and checked Xabi's pulse - as a precaution - filled himself up a bottle of uninfected water and asked; "Do you want me to take the first watch?"

Sergio had been watching him with his back against the flat rock, pulling out blades of grass with his fingernails. He seemed to consider the question, and then said; "I'll do it."

Fernando shrugged and went to lie down on the grass near Xabi, staring up at the sky. He tried to count the same stars that he'd counted over near the pond but there were far too many, and he settled for trying to name them instead.

_Deneb, Vega, Canopus, Alphard, Alpha Persei-_

His thoughts cut off when he felt - rather than saw - Sergio lie down next to him. He could hear his breathing in the small space that divided them and then, a cautious finger curled around his own.

"I was sent off to Thailand for a commission." Sergio began, quietly. "I wasn't going to take it at first - my dad was searching for a new house, my grandmother was in hospital, you were still missing - but the magazine made it pretty clear that they wouldn't give me any more offers if I refused this. So, I went."

"I never made it to Thailand. The plane made an emergency landing in Singapore - they told us there'd been a huge pandemic across Thailand and that it was in our best interests to head back to Europe. I was pretty mad at the magazine for a while because it was obvious they hadn't done their background checks on where they were sending their recruits too. I left them lots of angry voicemails but nobody ever responded. I didn't know why, at the time."

"I got on a plane back to Madrid from Singapore but that one made an emergency stop too, in Bilbao. And it was just chaos there; nobody knew what was happening and there were thousands of people trying to get planes out of the country. I tried asking around about what was happening but I kept getting different stories - infections and illnesses and zombies and death. I called up every member of my family but nobody picked up. All the planes had been grounded, there were no trains running. I didn't have any way to get back to Madrid."

"I ended up having to hitchhike. It took me three days and there were less cars on the road each day. A family eventually gave me a lift - they were heading to Madrid too, to find their friends. And they told me what had happened; about the water supplies and people Turning. They told me not to be too hopeful, that my relatives were likely dead. Looking back, it would've been better if they were right."

"It was obvious pretty quickly that something was very wrong in Madrid. We hit the outskirts and there wasn't another soul; it was deserted and the further we got in, the more we started seeing the bodies. They littered the streets - like plastic bags. They were everywhere and the smell...I must've thrown up about ten times. You can't imagine scenes like that, no matter how hard you try. Nothing prepares you for it. The family dropped me off on my street and then they were gone. I don't know what happened to them."

"I didn't think anyone was in my sister's house at first. I thought I was too late and that they'd either fled or they'd died. I wasn't sure whether I was expecting to find their bodies when I opened the door. But I heard noises up in the attic and Daniela, the minx, almost battered me around the head with a crowbar. She'd been hiding up there, with my Ma and Rene. They'd tried to find the others but there was no sign. There was almost no way for us to reach Seville. I still don't know what happened to all of them but it's easier to think they died. It stops you from wondering."

"We managed to stay in the house for around a month, maybe two. It's hard to keep track. Rene and I made a couple of runs out to shops for supplies and we never saw another person or a....Creaker. Those were the easier days though. Before things got really messy. It started to become too good to be true and then we were raided. They were a group and they just came in the night - took all our supplies and Rene. A couple of days later, we found him dead on our doorstep. He'd been left there; as a gift or a warning, we never found out. We didn't stick around long enough to find out. Daniela, Ma and me, we packed up and left."

"We were on the streets for a long time, wandering around aimlessly. It's not like we had an aim or anywhere to go. We just needed to survive. So, when we came across a group and they offered us shelter, there wasn't even a consideration. Our water and food supplies were low and Daniela was ill. We needed their help."

"And they gave us it, at first. They fed us and cleaned us and gave Daniela medicine - all the while, they kept joking that we now owed them and that's not the kind of thing you pick up on at the time, when you're sleeping in a comfortable bed for the first time in weeks and when you're having a hot bath. You don't notice those little things until it's too late."

"They taught me how to fight, how to kill Creakers. I went on loads of scavengers with them and I must've killed around a hundred of those bastards. They were swarming Madrid by this point, in every nook and corner and we lost a lot of people. But I felt part of the group. I felt like I had a role in the group and this was me, paying them back for their help. It didn't even cross my mind that maybe, this was only my payment; that they wanted something different from my Ma and Daniela."

"I was out on a scavenge almost every single night, and that was when it started to hit me. Something felt nauseatingly wrong and I knew what they were doing, that they were just keeping me out of the way. Ma disappeared one night and that was it, she was gone. I found out later that they'd killed her for resisting too much. But at the time, all I wanted to do was get out. So, I confronted them and I told them that we were grateful for all their help, but Daniela and I wanted to move on now."

"That was when they knew that I couldn't be trusted anymore, that I wasn't one of them. They chained Daniela and me up and...and, I knew what they were going to do when they came for her. There wasn't anything I could do; Daniela, she was screaming at me for help, to do something to stop it and I couldn't even move, I could only listen as they...just, _tore_ in to her. _She was nine years old._ And that's when you get it, you understand just what rape is; it's not desire, it's power and violation and control."

"She lasted less than a month. They didn't even let me bury her. The group had been running low on supplies so...they used her. Chopped up her body and roasted it over a spit. And if I thought the smell of corpses was bad, that...that was worse. Knowing what it was and smelling it; it was like their own, twisted form of torture. And it was effective. I was so far gone by that point, Fernando. I'd just lost it."

"I'd still be there if it wasn't for those damn Creakers. A massive herd of them hit the building one night. There was fire and smoke and blood _everywhere_ and part of me wanted it; part of me wanted to just die, right there because no fucking way could I keep living after seeing and hearing and smelling those things. It took watching some guy being ripped open by Creakers to realise that wasn't how I wanted to go - if I was going to die, I was going to do something right first."

"I used the chaos to as big an advantage as I could - killed as many people as I could. Forget about the Creakers, I hadn't lost my brother, and my Ma and Daniela to Creakers, I'd lost them to a bunch of sick people. Ran through them all with a knife; maybe not all of them, I think a lot escaped. But as many as I could. And that's when you know you've lost your humanity; when you feel a knife sliding through flesh like butter and it satisfies you. That's when you know."

"It was daylight by the time I escaped the building and I sat up on one of those multi-story carparks and watched it all fall - watched the building crumble to ground and just hoped to God that some of those people were still trapped inside. I felt like I couldn't go on until I knew that every single one of them was dead. I didn't even want them Turned. Just, gone. Like I was." 

"I went back on to the streets for a while, just on my own. It felt better that way. I wouldn't have to watch anyone else die. I started to make my way out of Madrid, thinking about if there was anything worth going to beyond the city. I was raided again, just like at the start, when I was sleeping. Brought it on myself really, sleeping in an unlocked and abandoned car. They took everything I had and gave me a heavy beating. Chased me for a good few miles; maybe less, but it felt that long."

"I probably had some internal bleeding, I'd had no water for almost 48 hours and the sun had hit me hard. I don't even remember staggering through the forest; I think I was hallucinating pretty badly. I saw the river and thought it was some kind of mirage or something. Thought it was clear. It was probably best that I collapsed on the bank before I could reach it. I was out for a good few hours and when I woke up, the illusions had gone."

"At least, I thought they had. When I looked up and saw you, I was pretty certain you must've been some kind of mirage too because no fucking way had I stumbled across you, of all people. Guess I wrong. Because...here we are."

There was a heavy sigh next to him and it sounded as Sergio was releasing several months' worth of weight. "So, there you go. That's what happened to me." He finished.

Fernando was frozen stiff at his story, his breath puffing out above him; there were no words in Spanish or English or Greek or Latin or Egyptian hieroglyphics that Fernando could use in that moment. There was absolutely nothing.

But he knew that he had to respond because Sergio deserved more than low breathing after that confession, so he settled for carefully interlocking their fingers together. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over Sergio's knuckle, hoping that the silent message would be conveyed.

When he felt a small squeeze back, he knew it had been.


	14. 14/11/2015

Fernando had another nightmare that night. His mind had been flooded with images of rotting corpses, dead brothers and squealing girls and he was grateful to be shaken from it by firm hands. He glanced around the darkness with a bleary gaze.

"Wha-"

Those said firm hands covered his mouth and cut him off. He made a noise of protest and reached behind him to give Sergio an elbow to the ribs.

 _"Areyoukiddingme?"_ He tried to ask but the words were stifled against Sergio's hand. _"Youcan'tkeepdoingthat."_

Sergio made a shushing noise and Fernando suddenly realised how tense he felt behind him. He quietened and pricked his ears but was unable to hear anything except his and Sergio's breathing and the occasional rustling as a gust of wind caught the leaves.

And then; something. In the distance. Like someone was swinging a door back and forth on rusty hinges. Several doors.

 _"IsthatwhatCreakerssoundlike?"_ He made another attempting at speaking from behind Sergio's hand but was just shushed again.

They lay in silence for a long time, just listening to the sound of creaking and holding baited breaths until it became clear that the noise was getting closer rather than further away. Slowly, Sergio removed his hand.

"We're too close to the treehouse. They'll have been attracted by the explosion." He whispered.

The noise was distinctly louder now. "Then let's move." Fernando suggested, uncomfortable at the thought of having to come face to face with a Creaker again. Once was enough.

Sergio shook his head. "It's too dark. We'll get lost or separated. And who knows what else we could run in to."

Fernando shivered at the thought. Sergio moved behind him and he sat up to watch as Sergio crawled over towards the bag that Fernando had retrieved from the treehouse. There was a lot of rustling, and then; "Did you bring weapons?"

"No." It hadn't even crossed his mind.

He heard Sergio sigh. _"Fuck_. Alright; remember when I told you that you'd have to learn to fight without weapons? This is one of those times."

Fernando choked back a scoff. _"What?"_ He couldn't even take a crack at a Creaker with a nine-inch blade in his hand. "Why don't I just protect Xabi?"

"We don't have time for this." It was almost as if the whole thing was a script and Sergio had just initiated a cue; no sooner had the words left his mouth that a dark silhouette stumbled in to the clearing that they'd camped in and released a strangled scream that chilled Fernando down to his core.

 _"Don't fucking move."_ Sergio hissed but the words were lost on Fernando who threw himself on top of Xabi as a human shield. The sudden movement caused Sergio to swear and the Creaker to scream again before breaking in to a hobbled run towards him. He fumbled around for a rock on the ground that he could throw but Sergio was there, barging in to the Creaker from the side and dragging them both to the ground.

All Fernando could see was a chaotic tangle of dark limbs and then the smell of fresh blood hit his nostrils. "Sergio? Sergio?"

Before he received any response, several more Creakers broke through the undergrowth, their snarling and groaning disrupting the air. When Sergio's hand wrapped around his wrist, he almost screamed.

"If you're not going to help, fine. Don't move from this spot." Sergio breathed quietly and Fernando felt the weight of his cowardice like a mountain on his chest. He watched Sergio run and tackle one of the Creakers to the ground again in a mess of growls and thumps. The other Creakers all advanced on the rolling bodies until Fernando couldn't distinguish between a single body in the darkness and panic gripped him as he realised that Sergio was actually going to get himself killed and that he was a total idiot for taking on all the Creakers himself but he knew that he'd given him no other option when he'd refused to fight too.

_Matches._

The word popped up in his mind like a lightbulb and it hit him; there were matches in the bag. He'd brought matches, along with the first-aid kit and the torch. And there wasn't time to think as he abandoned Xabi and scrambled across the ground towards the bag and fumbled around inside until his fingers brushed past his journal and clasped around the small box.

He wheedled his way over the fire that they'd put out earlier, his hands shaking as he pulled out a couple of the matches and tried to light them. He kept dropping them on the floor and it only got worse when he heard a groan of pain from Sergio.

 _Pull yourself together, for god's sake_. He managed to light the first one and threw it at the nearest log. Then he lit another, and another, and another until he'd got a fire going again. And then, before he had a chance to change his mind, he shouted; "Hey!"

His voice attracted the attention of one or two Creakers and they began to stagger towards him. The light of the fire illuminated their chalky complexion and glazed eyes and Fernando felt the familiar reflex to curl up in a ball and hide; to pretend none of it was real.

No more of that. He shouted again and managed to coax another one over towards him. From somewhere in the distance, he heard Sergio's choked voice. _"What the fuck are you doing?"_

As soon as one was close enough, he used his scalded hand to pick up the nearest log and hurled it. The log flew through the air and smacked the Creaker in the chest - and it went up in flames. The papery-skin of the Creakers acted like a catalyst and before Fernando could blink, there was only a ball of fire stumbling towards him and collapsing on the ground in a pile of ashes.

A laugh bubbled up his throat and spilled out, adrenaline pumping through his body like a drug and he picked up another log and threw it at the next Creaker. And then the next one. He missed the one after and Sergio covered for him, sinking his fingers straight through the soft flesh of Creaker's head and yanking out what could only be strands of the brain; Fernando resisted the urge to vomit and went for the remaining Creakers.

There was nothing left by the time the last one had been reduced to dust on the ground. Fernando put out the fire with a hiss and then poured the remaining water over his hand; he was glad his nerves had been numbed by the previous scolding. Sergio was staring at him, blood splattered across his shirt, hands and face.

“You should wash all that off. It might be infected.” Fernando spoke when it became obvious that Sergio wasn’t going to. “And I think we should cut your hair. Creakers could grab on to it.”

Sergio made a small noise in the back of his throat and gathered Fernando up in to a hug. Fernando froze, a complaint about all the blood resting on the tip of his tongue. But if Sergio noticed the resistance, he only hugged him tighter, his face against Fernando’s neck.

“Thank you.” He said and, cautiously, Fernando brought his hands up and rested them against Sergio’s shoulder blades. He could feel the feverish heat of Sergio’s body through the thin material of his t-shirt. It sent him in to a daze and he lifted one hand up to Sergio’s hair, where he felt blood and was reminded.

“Haircut.” He repeated and Sergio chuckled, breaking the hug.

“Okay.” Sergio conceded. “Haircut. In the morning.”

He was pretty good about the whole thing too; Sergio had always been funny about his hair for as long as Fernando had known him. But he didn’t make a single complaint the following morning as Fernando snipped at his brown locks with a pair of tiny, surgical scissors from the first-aid kit. He worked in a silence for a while before exhaling a slow breath and saying;

“So, I left Madrid before the infection hit. And I left because….because, I felt like I’d lost myself. I’d been deteriorating a lot – mentally, I mean – and our breakup just…pushed me over the edge. So I packed up and left. I didn’t have a place in mind; I just wanted somewhere new. Somewhere where I could start again. I came across the treehouse and hid in it for a while. I was just waiting for those first couple of months; for whoever owned the treehouse to return. Nobody did, of course, and I thought that meant I could make it mine. I was there for three months before I found Xabi.”

“Actually, he found me. I just walked in to the treehouse and he was there. And I had no idea what had happened to the world. I thought it was his treehouse or something. Xabi told me everything and I decided that I needed him to survive. So, we stuck together. Never came across a Creaker, never came across another person. It was like living in this isolated world where nothing could touch us. We were completely safe.”

“And…it was the three hundredth day when I found you. I saw you on the bank and thought you were a dead body. When you saw me, I’d been going to bury you. And, it was like I hadn’t escaped at all. Like everything I’d run from had just boomeranged right back at me.”

He cut off the final piece of hair and, without really thinking, trailed his hands through the shorter locks. “There you go.” He said, signalling the end of the haircut and his ramblings. “I mean, you told me your story, so…that’s mine.”

Sergio rubbed the back of his now exposed neck and said; “Thank you.”

It didn’t matter which thing he was thanking Fernando for. “It’s okay.” He replied and popped the scissors back in the first-aid kit. “I still think we should make a move. Put more distance between us and the treehouse.”

“Sure.” Sergio agreed and stood up. “Let’s move on then.”


	15. 15/11/2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yass, a double update! (Finally).

_"You've lost your job?"_

_Fernando shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gloved fingers flexing around his polystyrene cup of hot chocolate. He'd wanted to meet Dr. Di Matteo on neutral ground and Madrid's main square had seemed a great idea at the time. Of course, that was before he arrived and remembered that it was the middle of the Christmas season - it was heaving with shoppers and the council had put up a temporary ice-skating rink, attracting even more hoards. The cafés were so busy that his therapist and he had resorted to sitting outside on the cold, iron chairs._

_"No." He tried to refute and he hid his face further underneath his scarf. "They told me to take a sabbatical."_

_"What happened?" Dr. Di Matteo was sat with his own mug of tea and a quirked eyebrow. There were no files or jotted notes or recordings; Dr. Di Matteo wasn't even charging him for this session. Fernando had just needed someone to talk to - a normal person would use family or friends but, Fernando didn't really have any of those._

_"I had a breakdown in the classroom." He whispered, taking a sip from his cup and scalding his tongue. Dr. Di Matteo just watched him with his usual kind and curious expression and Fernando felt forced to continue. "I could feel myself slipping for a few days prior. There's been a lot of unresolved issues on my mind recently and...I wasn't doing all those de-stressing techniques you told me about. I just...forgot."_

_"That's understandable."_

_"I don't think I was in a fit state to go to work yesterday." He admitted, quietly. "I think I knew I wasn't. But I went, anyway. My hands were shaking all through the morning. And I kept jumping every time one of my students asked me a question. I went to the toilets to calm myself down over lunch and I threw up a couple of times; I must've looked a complete mess walking back in to the classroom. And then, Elissa just....she just said; 'What's wrong with you?' And she meant it in the kindest way possible, she was only asking how I was but....I don’t know, I just snapped."_

_"Did you hurt one of your students?" There was no judgement in his therapist's voice._

_Fernando almost spluttered all his hot chocolate over the table. "What? No! No, I didn't hurt them!"_

_Dr. Di Matteo just raised his hands in a silent gesture and took another gulp of tea. "Do you have any idea why Elissa's question might have triggered you?"_

_"No." He stared down at his drink._

_"I'm your therapist, Fernando. You can lie to me if you want, but then I can't help you."_

_He blew gently over the liquid, watching the ripples form. "I just....someone else had said that to me. I don't think it's important."_

_"If you say so. What happened after that?”_

_He shrugged, though it was impossible to tell under his winter coat and scarf. “It's a blur. I think I shouted at her - told her that there wasn't anything wrong with me, that I didn't want her to say that. And, then I was on the floor. I think I was crying. Crying and screaming. Maybe it was the students who were screaming. I don't really remember."_

_"That's alright." His therapist offered and looked out towards the square and the ice-rink._

_"I was sent home and they called me this morning. They told me that it was for the best if I take some paid leave. A sabbatical. I think they’re sending out a letter of apology to all the parent’s on my behalf.” He glanced up at Dr. Di Matteo. "Can I ask you something?"_

_"Of course."_

_He hesitated, unsure whether he wanted to hear the answer; before asking; "Is there something wrong with me?"_

_"Wrong with you?" Dr. Di Matteo repeated. "What d'you mean?"_

_He tried to search around for the correct words. "Is there something wrong with...my mind? Am I insane or...something like that?"_

_His therapist stared at him intently for several, long seconds. The sound of clacking heels and festive music and children laughing echoed between them and it felt like an age had passed before Dr. Di Matteo answered. "Fernando, you suffer from severe anxiety." He began, placing his mug down on the table. "That's all. But it's often heightened by deep-rooted fears that stretch back to childhood. You have attachment anxiety - you're afraid that people will leave you. And emotional anxiety - you're afraid that people don't want you or don’t care about you. They're all things that you have to learn how to handle but they are not wrong."_

_"I don't want it." He whispered. "I just want to be normal."_

_"Normal?" Dr. Di Matteo gave a wry smile. "I'm not sure such a thing exists, Fernando. You can pull through this. I believe that you're strong enough."_

_He gave another, small shrug. "Nobody wants someone who has a panic-attack because they forget to call." He said with a sniff._ Pathetic.

_"You let your anxiety define you, Fernando. But you don't have to." Dr. Di Matteo continued, his voice sober. "And believe me; the right person won't let it define you either."_

_"Fernando?"_

_Fernando almost spilled his hot chocolate at sound of his name. He looked up to see Sergio staring at him. He had a hat pushed down over his head and his hand was clasped around Daniela's smaller one, a pair of skates draped around her neck._

_It was almost as if a switch had been flicked; he felt that familiar pressure of panic begin to build up inside his chest and his breathing increased. He hadn't seen Sergio since he'd stormed out of his apartment. Fernando had decided to listen to him and hadn't called._

_He could Dr. Di Matteo's eyes on him as he stood up on trembling legs. "Hi." He just said, wondering whether Sergio was going to move in for a kiss or a hug. He tried not to be too disappointed when neither occurred._

_"I...thought you'd be at home today." Sergio said, running his gaze up and down Fernando and eliciting a flush. "Daniela told me you....that you freaked out in class yesterday."_

_Fernando nodded. "Yes. I did." And added; "Not one of my finest moments." He tried to joke but the humour was lost on pretty much everyone._

_"I was going to stop by yours tonight and check you were alright, but...I guess I don't need to now." Sergio flicked his gaze over to Dr. Di Matteo and then back towards Fernando, seemingly waiting for an explanation._

_"Oh. Sergio, this is Dr. Di Matteo. He's my therapist." He went for total honesty. It wasn't as if any more damage could be done. "Dr. Di Matteo, this is Sergio."_

_His therapist rose from his chair and offered his hand to Sergio. "Hi, Sergio. Fernando has spoken a lot about you."_

_Sergio shook the hand. "Funny. He hasn't spoken a lot about you."_

_If Dr. Di Matteo detected the bitterness in his voice - and he probably did, he was a psychologist - he ignored it, and gave a smile. "I hear you're a photographer?"_

_Sergio just stared at him, and then said; "How often does Fernando see you?"_

_"Sergio, please-" Fernando began, desperate to avoid this argument again and desperate to avoid it in front of his therapist. But Dr. Di Matteo looked at complete ease and answered without a hitch._

_"I have to keep the details of all my patients fully confidential, I'm afraid. But, if you asked Fernando, I'm sure he would tell you."_

_Fernando felt utterly humiliated by the whole exchange. "I've been seeing him since I was fourteen." He put it out there, his cheeks burning. "On a weekly basis, for nine years. I stopped two years ago, at twenty-three. Since then, we just arrange impromptu sessions. It's not compulsory or anything.”_

_Dr. Di Matteo nodded in agreement and smiled at Sergio; whose expression remained impassive and unreadable. To Fernando, at least. He got that feeling that Dr. Di Matteo could understand every thought that passed through Sergio's head._

_"Uncle Sese." Daniela made her presence known and tugged at Sergio's hand. "I want to skate."_

_"Right, yeah." Sergio broke his gaze with Fernando and stroked the back of Daniela's head. "Fernando, I've been thinking and...can we talk tonight?"_

_A small flicker of relief burst in Fernando's chest. "I....of course. Yes."_ Thank god. _"D'you want to meet at mine? Eight?"_

_Sergio nodded. "Alright. I'll see you then." He inclined his head towards Dr. Di Matteo. "It was nice to meet you." Although it had been anything but nice. He walked off with Daniela, heading towards the ice-rink._

_Fernando watched him leave, his mind buzzing with all the things he'd tell Sergio; he'd give all his apologies and he'd tell Sergio everything and anything that he wanted to know because there would be no more lies or secrets or anxiety issues, Fernando would work through them for him, he'd do whatever it took, and then Sergio would forgive him and kiss him and they'd go back to the way they were. The way they'd been at the beginning._

_Sergio was his_ right person _. He just knew it._


	16. 16/11/2015

"This is West."

"No, it isn't."

"Xabi gave me lots of lessons on orienteering. _This_ is West."

"This isn't orienteering - we don't have a compass."

"Well, navigation then. The sun rises in the West."

"No, it doesn't! The sun _sets_ in the West; it rises in the _East!"_

"Oh." Fernando glanced up at the sky through the treetops. "I'm sure it was the West."

Sergio groaned from next to him. "You've got us lost."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Then where are we?"

Fernando looked around. "In the forest."

"For God's sake-"

"It's alright." He dropped the bag on the floor. "We've been in this area before. I recognise it."

"So we're lost _and_ going around in circles."

"Ooh, the river flows downstream. We can follow the direction of the water."

"Oh, fantastic." Sergio began and put Xabi down on the ground. "Except, we don't have a fucking clue where the river is."

Fernando huffed. "I'm doing my best." He said.

"We've been walking for three days, Fernando. And you've got us nowhere."

Fernando composed himself. _No arguments, no arguments, no arguments_. "We should set up camp here. It'll be dark in an hour or so."

"And tomorrow?"

"We'll walk again."

"Where?"

"I'll figure it out." He just said and Sergio muttered a few choices words under his breath that Fernando decided to ignore. He shed his coat and popped it underneath Xabi's head, shivering against the wind. Sergio plonked himself down on the grass, sighing.

"How are we doing for food?" He asked. They'd scavenged berries and fruits whenever they'd passed bushels and Sergio had managed to capture them a rabbit just yesterday. They still had half of it left.

"Fine."

"And water?" Fernando thought about the pond. "I'll get us some." He said and Sergio eyed him suspiciously but made no comment. He'd make a few treks out to the pond; either at night or early in the morning. It kept drawing him back there and Sergio must've known that he wandered off but it was never mentioned.

He slipped off to find the pond with his bucket in hand. It was difficult to retrace his exact steps when they were on the move each day but he always seemed capable of stumbling across it. And whenever he did, he'd fill up the bucket with clean, uninfected water and then leave it on one of the rocks as he went and swam around. It was October at this point - if he trusted his timekeeping abilities in his journal - and the water was cold but Fernando liked that. Too often he felt suffocated and there was something about the chill that made breathing easier.

It was dark when he returned and Sergio had lit a fire. "I'm back."

Sergio didn't look up from his lap. His back was against a rock and his knees were drawn up. Fernando frowned, depositing the bucket of water on the ground. "What are you doing?"

"Reading." Sergio answered, utterly unfazed.

 _Reading?_ Fernando added another log to the fire, puzzling over what reading material Sergio could have possibly found in the forest.

Until it hit him. _"What the-"_ He was over to Sergio in a flash and ripped the familiar, scrappy notebook from his hands. _"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"_

 _No argument, no arguments, no arguments._ Sergio blinked up at him, a little irritated. "I was just reading it."

"Just? _Just?"_ Fernando was flabbergasted. "We've been through this! My journal is _private!"_ This was so much worse though - before, Sergio hadn't even been mentioned. Now, huge paragraphs had been dedicated to him and their past relationship.

_Fuck._

"I was looking for the matches. You just left it in the bag."

"Where else am I supposed to keep it? _Down my socks?"_  He spat back. "I don't believe you!" _No arguments, no arguments, no arguments._

Sergio just looked at him. "Do you really think I only wanted you for sex?" He asked, quietly.

Fernando flushed a bright red. "I don't want to find you reading this again. _Ever._ "

"Please, answer my question."

"No." He fumbled for an excuse. "That's private."

Sergio frowned. "Private? It's about me."

 _No arguments, no arguments, no arguments._ "You're taking the first watch." He stammered out and went and flopped down on the ground, as far away from Sergio as he dared without feeling to exposed. He hugged the journal tight to his chest and curled around it - just in case.

He took the early morning watch, largely so that he could escape to the pond. The dawn light drifted across the water as he submerged himself completely, water bubbling in his ears. He'd stuffed the journal underneath his coat-slash-makeshift pillow for Xabi; he was fairly certain Sergio wouldn't think to look there.

A flush of anger still trickled across his skin whenever he thought about it; he'd told Sergio that his journal wasn't some autobiography of his life that he had free access to. He hid his more personal and private thoughts and feelings between those pages.

It was a lack of respect - that's what it was. A total lack of respect.

Groaning to himself, he pushed his wet hair back from his face and tickled the reeds with his toes. The water was particularly cold this morning and he was doused to his shoulders in it; tiny goosebumps littered his skin worse than his freckles did.

"So, this is where you keep disappearing off to."

Fernando yelped with fright and his heart rocketed out of his chest. He spun around, almost losing balance in the water, to see Sergio sitting himself down on the bank with a smirk.

"I.... _what are you doing?"_ The flush of anger quickly evolved in to one of embarrassment.

"Following you."

He backed up in to the deepest section of the pool, until only his chin bobbed above the surface of the water. "Go away."

Sergio just cocked his head and eyed the pile of clothes that Fernando had abandoned on the bank. "Taking a bath?"

"It's uninfected water." Fernando said, as if that was an explanation. "Please, go." _He was naked, he was naked, he was naked._

Sergio smirked again. "I'm alright." He said, glancing around. "It's a nice spot. Have you not run in to any Creakers or anything?"

"You've left Xabi alone." Fernando realised with a start.

Sergio shrugged. "It's pretty silent out here. We'd hear Creakers from a mile away."

Fernando wanted to give him a hard shake for putting Xabi in potential danger but, well....there was no chance he was getting out of this pond with Sergio watching him. The skin on his fingertips was beginning to shrivel.

He released a long breath. "Can you turn around, please?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you turn around?" He repeated.

Sergio smiled. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, I'm fucking serious. _Turn around."_ His face was hot.

Sergio laughed then, leaning back on his hands. "Fer, I've seen you naked hundreds of times before. I can think about you naked whenever I want. What's the big deal?"

Fernando didn't dare to take a single step out of the water. He slid down even further until the ends of his hair were flirting across the surface. "That's different." He began, the water bubbling just below his bottom lip. "That was mutual and consensual....nakedness. This isn't."

Sergio seemed to consider his comment. "Mutual, huh?" He said; and started pulling off his shoes.

If Fernando had thought he was red before, he knew that his face must be on fire now. _"Don't you dare..."_ He began to splutter and subconsciously backed up, before realising that would only take him further out of the water and stayed put. "Sergio, don't."

"Oh, do you own the water? Do I have to take out a lease?" He said, shrugging out of his shirt and presenting Fernando with his familiar, inked body like an exhibition display.

 _Fuck this._ "If you get in, I'm leaving."

"Feel free." Sergio laughed because they both knew Fernando wasn't going anywhere; not while his clothes remained frustratingly far away, taunting him. When Sergio dragged down his zipper, Fernando lost his nerve and submerged himself under the water completely. If Sergio was trying to give him some kind of striptease, he wasn't going to watch. He didn't _want_ to watch.

Definitely not.

He briefly flirted with the idea of swimming underwater to the bank and pulling his clothes in to the pond with him. Wet clothes was better than no clothes at all. But he couldn't navigate with his eyes closed and he'd no doubt bump in to Sergio; in fact, he knew exactly what he'd bump in to with his face under the water and decided against it.

He ran out of breath eventually and had to come up for air; blinking the water from his eyes, he watched Sergio wade through the pond, waist-deep, and puff out a breath.

"Fucking hell, Fer. It's damn cold in here."

Fernando just lowered himself until only his nose, eyes and hair were visible above the water. Sergio mimicked his posture and Fernando didn't need to see his mouth to know he was smiling; it was all in the eyes.

They regarded each other carefully for a long while - Fernando's pulse slowly and steadily increasing in pace despite the cold water - until Sergio took it upon himself to drench Fernando with a massive splash.

Fernando coughed and spluttered as he was doused with the water. "What the fuck-"

He was splashed again and Sergio's laughter echoed in his ears. He rubbed at his eyes furiously. _"Stop."_

"Lighten up."

He grabbed at Sergio's splashing hands and stilled them. "Stop pretending that we're friends. We're not friends."

"We are."

"How can we be friends if you don't trust me?" He asked.

Sergio's hands hesitated in his and he met his gaze. "I didn't really mean that." He said in a quiet voice. "I was just angry; and upset. I do trust you." He bit his lip, and then asked; "Do you really think I only wanted you for sex?"

Fernando swallowed. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Just answer the question. Please." Sergio unhitched his hands from Fernando's and then carefully interlaced their fingers, locking them together.

"Yes." Fernando whispered, his toes sinking in to the mud. "I did."

Sergio drew him closer, until Fernando could see the tiny, chocolate flecks in his eyes. "You're wrong."

Fernando shook his head, unable to speak at Sergio's sudden close proximity. Sergio frowned slightly and untangled one of their hands, using it to push up through Fernando's wet hair, wrapping a finger around the strands. "You're so wrong."

"Stop." Fernando said but the note of longing in his voice betrayed him. "We're not going to do this again."

"Do what?"

"Us."

He wanted closure from Sergio so badly; he'd wanted it for over a year because that unrelenting ache in his chest just wouldn't fade and Fernando could suppress it as much as he wanted because it only came back stronger each time. And Sergio trying to do the opposite only made everything more difficult.

"I still love you."

Fernando shook his head, tiny water droplets sprinkling around them. "Please, don't."

Sergio was uncompromising. "No. Listen to me; I still love you."

"I don't care." Fernando lied through his teeth, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. _God, don't start, Fernando, don't start._ "I don't care."

"Fer," Sergio sounded desperate and cupped his face. _"I still love you."_ He tried to move in for a kiss but Fernando twisted his face to side, his lips brushing against his cheek. He was shaking.

"This is wrong." He breathed, closing his eyes when Sergio decided to improvise and left small, butterfly kisses across his cheek. Sergio murmured his disagreement and nosed under his ear. "We shouldn't do this." He tried again.

And Sergio detached himself from Fernando - hands and mouth - and took a step back, the water churning around their shoulders. "Then leave." He said. "If you don't want this, then leave."

Fernando watched him with a breathless and surprised stare, taking in the tattooed shoulders and light stubble and tan skin, the damp lips and short hair and wet eyelashes; and, really, it seemed inevitable that Fernando would surrender and pull him back in for a kiss.

The whole thing seemed inevitable; that Sergio's hand would go to work straight away in reclaiming every inch of skin that still belonged to him; that Fernando wouldn't just let him, he'd encourage him with small whimpers and gasps; that he'd familiarise himself with the rough ink that dressed Sergio's body in art; that they'd stumble out of the pond in a tangle of kisses and touches and groans, collapsing on the bank.

It seemed inevitable that Fernando would end up on top; that Sergio would try and prove a point; that he'd rub soothing circles in to Fernando's hips as he took every inch of Sergio that was offered, crying out because it felt so raw; that he'd allow Fernando to control the rhythm; that his head would roll back and so would his eyes because, _god,_ he missed this.

It seemed inevitable that Fernando would ask Sergio to call him _sex kitten;_ that he'd mean it as a joke but there'd be nothing funny about the arousal that blinded him when Sergio purred the name over and over and over again, his own breath hitching with each rotation of Fernando's hips; that Sergio would gather him up as they both neared the end, finishing Fernando off with a few, final rolling thrusts; that Fernando would collapse on his chest with Sergio's pounding heartbeat beneath his ear and crashing down from his high so fast that it almost choked him.

_You've gone and fucked up now, Fernando._


	17. 17/11/2015

_Vacuumed apartment? Check._

_Clean and ironed shirt? Check._

_Pasta boiling in the pan? Check._

_Sergio's favourite wine on the table? Check._

_Candles? Check._

_Fernando checked off a mental list in his head as the clock struck eight; everything had to be perfect. He had to prove to Sergio that he would make everything work. No secret therapists, no overbearing behaviour, no panic-attacks. Well, he couldn't always control the latter but he'd do his best; for Sergio._

_He'd even bought a recipe book specifically for the occasion and had spent the entire afternoon discarding meal after meal until he'd mastered one perfectly; it was just a pasta_ _bake, but the thought was what counted._

_He was checking his hair in the mirror when a quiet knock echoed through the room._

Alright, Fernando; let's do this. _He gave himself a mental pep talk and went to open the door._

_And his jaw dropped open._

_"Evening, Fernando." His mother smiled at him from the threshold, her blonde hair curled and springy. She was wrapped up the same, fur coat that she'd worn when he'd met her at the café, almost a month ago. Her smile was polite but strained._

_Fernando simply stood, shocked, until his mother spoke again. "May I come in?"_

_He stepped aside, wordlessly, and his mother swept past him and in to the room. She removed her gloves, glancing around with curious eyes. "This is a lovely apartment, Fernando." She said, trailing her finger across the kitchen counter. "I like the wood panelling. I always knew you'd inherit my taste in interior design."_

_Fernando just remained silent._

_His mother's gaze flicked over to the bottle on the wine and candles that adorned the table. "Oh. Are you expecting someone?"_

_Her comment finally brought Fernando this senses. He shook his head slightly. "Um...yes. I am. This isn't a good time."_

_"Is it with your...boyfriend?" Her face tightened at the word_ 'boyfriend'.

_"Yes."_

_His mother very visibly composed herself and beamed. "How wonderful. Can I meet him?"_

_"This isn't a good time." He repeated. "Why are you here?"_

_His mother sat down on his sofa, removing her shoes. "I'm allowed to visit my son, no?"_

_Fernando swallowed down his frustrations and tried to keep himself calm. "Funny, I've had more visits in the past month than I've had for the past twenty-five years. I told you that I didn't need you in my life. You don't mean anything to me."_

_His mother made a good act of appearing offended;_ "Fernando. _There's no need to be rude." She admonished him. "You'll always be my son."_

_"Why are you here?" He asked again. "Why did you want to meet me at the café? Why are you here now?" He didn't have time to beat around the bush - Sergio would be here any minute._

_A few beats passed between them and his mother sighed, glancing around. "Be a good host, Fernando, and get your mother a drink."_

_"Answer me."_

_"Please. A drink?"_

_Fernando tightened his jaw and wandered over to the fridge. "What d'you want? Water? Juice?"_

_His mother laughed then, the sound spluttering out of her. "Oh, honey; a_ real _drink."_

_"I don't have any spirits." He said. "Just beer."_

_"That'll do."_

_He brought out two beers from the fridge, uncapping them. His mother waited patiently and gave him a grateful smile when he passed her the bottle. She patted the space on the sofa next to her and Fernando cautiously took it._

_"Tell me why you're here."_

_With a small hesitation, his mother reached out and reluctantly patted his cheek. "I'm having some financial trouble."_

_Fernando choked on his gulp of beer. "What?"_

_"It's nothing serious." She waved off his outburst and took a sip of her own drink. "Jose just got in to a spot of bother with the authorities and we're a little short on money at the minute."_

_"Then get a job." Fernando suggested and he moved his cheek out of reach of his mother's hand. "You told me you don't work. Get a job."_

_His mother gave a sad smile. "Jose won't allow me to work, Fernando."_

I don't feel sorry for you, _he told himself._ I don't feel sorry for you.

_"I'm going to put all my pride on the line here, Fernando; will you give your mother a loan?"_

_Fernando found himself flushing with anger. "Is this some kind of joke?"_

_"Of course not."_

_He stood up from the sofa. "You...you show up in my life again, having not bothered to since I was seven years old, and because you want money?" He demanded. "That's it?"_

_"I'm your flesh and blood, Fernando." His mother tried to reason. "We'll always be there for each other, in times of need."_

_"But you weren't!" He started to raise his voice. "Where were you when no foster family wanted to take me in because I had breakdown after breakdown? Where were you when I first got diagnosed with severe anxiety? Where were you when I started seeing a therapist at fourteen years old because I wasn't able to be in a room with more than two people at once with having a panic-attack?"_

_"I'm sorry, Fernando." Moisture began to build behind his mother's eyes. "I'm so sorry for all of that."_

_"No, you're not. You're not sorry."_

_"I am, I swear, I am." She stood up and tried to hug him but he wriggled out of her embrace._

_His voice shook. "I can't believe you're asking this of me. You don't care about me, you're not sorry-"_

_"Fernando?"_

_Fernando spun around. Sergio was stood in the threshold of his ajar, apartment door. "What's going on?"_

_"Nothing, nothing."_ Nothing would ruin this evening. _"Please leave." He turned to his mother, directing the statement at her._

_His mother wiped at her eyes and swept past him, towards Sergio. "You must be Sergio. I'm delighted to meet you, finally."_

Finally? Finally!? _"We're finished." Fernando pleaded, desperate for her to leave because she was spoiling the perfect night that he'd planned._

_"Who is this?" Sergio asked, ignoring his mother's outstretched hand._

_"You mean, Fernando didn't tell you about me?" His mother turned to look at him with mock outrage. And Fernando suddenly felt sick because Sergio looked up at him with slight accusation in his eyes._

_"I'm his mother." She finished, with a bright smile. "We last met just the other week."_

_"No, she's lying, that was just one time, we haven't been in contact, I swear."_ She was making it worse, she was making everything worse. _"Please, just go."_

_His mother seemed to have some common sense within her head because she gave a conceding nod and slipped her feet back in to her shoes. "We'll discuss this again, soon." She grabbed her coat and tried to give him a peck on the cheek but he stumbled backwards and away from her. With a sigh, she offered a brief smile towards Sergio and left the apartment._

_Sergio seemed to watch her disappear down the corridor, until he looked back at Fernando. "You've been seeing your mother again?"_

This was just what he needed. _"No, just once, a few weeks ago."_

_"And you didn't tell me?"_

_The frustration at his mother bubbled up and over and before he could stop himself, he said; "Maybe I would've had a chance to if you'd decided to come to me for more than just a fuck."_

_Sergio winced. "Fer, I'm-"_

_"No." He quickly interrupted. This wasn't why Sergio was here. "Look, forget about it. I'm just glad you're here." He put on his brightest smile._

_Sergio glanced around the apartment; taking in the wine and the candles and Fernando's shirt. "Did you do this, for me?"_

_Fernando nodded. "Yeah, it is. I cooked and everything." The mention of cooking reminded him of the pasta and he swore. He fumbled over to the oven, flicking off the gas but it was far too late; his pasta was completely overdone. "Shit."_

_"Fer, don't worry about it."_

_"No, no, I'll do it again." He said, opening his cupboards, determined to make this just perfect. "I'll be quick, I've practised loads."_

_"Please, don't. I'm not staying for long."_

_Fernando should've known, at that moment, that this night wasn't going to go the way he wanted it to. He froze and swallowed down a rapidly forming lump in his throat. "Why not?"_

_Sergio didn't answer and Fernando turned to face him. He looked ill._

_Eventually, Sergio gestured the sofa. "Can we sit down?"_

_"No." Fernando quickly shot back, his pulse beginning to hammer and his fingers shaking._

_"Please?" He sounded desperate._

_"No, I want to stand."_

_Sergio looked defeated and he ran a hand through his hair. "Alright. Standing it is." He watched the floor silently for a long time and Fernando just stood, waiting, perfectly aware that his fragile composure was incredibly close to snapping. When Sergio raised his face again, his eyes were sad. "So, I've been thinking about us. A lot. For the past week or so-"_

_"Eleven days."_

_"What?"_

_"It's been eleven days." Fernando said, quietly. "Since you told me not to call you."_

_If anything, Sergio just looked sadder. "Right." He said. "I needed time to figure some things out and....I think I have. Figured them out, that is."_

_Fernando just swallowed again and nodded. "Okay."_

_"This is so fucking hard, Fernando." He continued, his voice breaking. "But...I want to break up."_

_It was like someone swept out a carpet from beneath his feet; no - it was like there were eighty layers of carpet under his feet and each one was getting pulled out in turn, leaving him in a limbo of freefalling through the air, his stomach lurching with a fresh wave of nausea each time. "What?" He managed to choke out._

_"I'm so sorry."_

_"I don't understand."_

_"I'm so sorry, Fernando."_

_"I don't understand!"_

_"Please, I'm sorry!" Sergio sounded on the verge of tears._

_"No, stop apologising and explain!" He was about to crumble - he could feel it, rising in him, threatening to suffocate him. He'd already been so worked up by his mother and now this? This wasn't how his night was meant to go, this wasn't how he'd planned it._

_"We're just not good for each other at the minute." Sergio tried to reason, his shoulders slumping. "This isn't working."_

_There was no holding back the tears now - Fernando didn't even care as they flowed freely down his face. "No, I'll make it work. I'll make it work, Sergio."_

_"We can't fix this." Sergio just answered and walked over to him, pulling him in to a hug. "I'm so sorry, Fernando. I really am."_

_Fernando grabbed at him immediately, hiding his face in Sergio's hair. "You don't have to do this." He sobbed. "I'll get better, I promise. I promise." Sergio just held him tightly and Fernando cried harder. "You don't care either. You don't care at all."_

_"I care, Fernando. I love you." And there was something twisted about that fact that Sergio chose this moment to tell him that for the first time. "But we shouldn't put ourselves through this any longer. It's something that has to be done."_

_"No, it isn't! This is your choice!" Fernando cried against his hair, the volume of the words stifled. "This is a choice that_ you _made!"_

_"I'm sorry." Sergio repeated and tried to untangle himself. But Fernando wasn't having any of it, digging his fingertips in to Sergio's coat._

_"No, don't leave, don't leave."_

_"I should."_

_"Please, don't leave." Fernando was practically begging, clinging to Sergio with all the strength he had left in his body. "Don't leave me, God, don't leave."_

_Sergio managed to unravel himself eventually. "I'm so, so sorry." He just said, heading towards the door._

_"You won't come back." Fernando stood as a weeping mess in the middle of his kitchen floor. "If you leave, you're not going to come back, are you?"_

_Sergio only paused for a second, his voice trembling. "I guess we don't know."_

_And then he was gone._


	18. 18/11/2015

_"I can't believe you did this."_ Fernando hissed, struggling in to his jeans and his fingers slipping on the zipper.

"Me?" Sergio was pulling on his t-shirt. "It takes two to tango, Fer."

"Shut up! My name is Fernando!" He shot back. "And you...manipulated me!"

Sergio snorted. "Manipulated? It's called seduction." He reached out and wrapped his hand around Fernando's wrist. "And it worked because we are _not over."_

Fernando wrestled out of his grip and shoved his feet in to his boots with a scowl. He stormed off through the forest without waiting for Sergio to finish dressing although his dramatic exit was ruined slightly by his stumbling over untied laces.

He ranted to himself under his breath as he strode back towards their makeshift camp, whispering angrily;

_"No arguments, yeah right, he's looking for an argument, he's just trying to confuse you, that's all he does, confuse and change his mind and confuse again, he’s making an idiot of you and he's just an idiot too, a manipulative idiot, he knows exactly what he's doing-"_

His mindless grumblings cut off as soon as he reached the camp - and noticed that there was an empty space and an abandoned coat-slash-pillow where Xabi had been.

And his heart stopped.

Before he could reconsider, he began to yell. "Sergio! Sergio! Sergio! Sergio!"

Sergio popped up next to him, still trying to drag his jacket on and his shoes also untied. "What? What's happening?"

"Xabi's gone, he's gone!" Fernando sounded hysterical. "He's been taken, he's been taken!"

Sergio swallowed from next to him and tried put a reassuring hand on Fernando's shoulder. "Alright. Fer, don't panic-"

"No!" Fernando slapped his hand off. "I will bloody well panic! This is your fucking fault! You left Xabi on his own! If he's dead or mutilated or-!"

"Fernando?"

Both Sergio and Fernando looked over to see Xabi watching them. Xabi - _standing and talking and blinking at them._ Both were too stunned to do anything except gape.

"I was looking around for you." Xabi stated quite casually, as if he hadn't been comatose for almost two months. He glanced around. "What am I doing here?"

Fernando broke and he rushed at Xabi, clinging to him. "Oh my god, Xabi, you're alright! You're alright!" It all came flooding back to him, suddenly, and he began to cry. "I'm so sorry, Xabi! I'm so sorry that I didn't help you! I almost let you die! I'm so, so sorry!"

"What?" Xabi laughed, patting Fernando awkwardly on the back. "What's going on?"

Fernando just hugged him harder. "You've no idea how scared I've been! I don't know what I'd do without you. I'll make it all up to you, I swear!"

"Fernando."

"Yeah?" He murmured.

"You stink of sex."

Fernando recoiled at Xabi's word, flushing with humiliation. "What?"

Xabi started to laugh again and there was something not quite right about it. It wasn't something Xabi would ever say. "Seriously. You stink of it."

From behind Fernando, Sergio began to snigger and he pushed past the mortification. "Priorities, Xabi; you've just woken up from a coma!"

That shut Xabi up and he stared at Fernando. "What?"

"Are you feeling ill? Or nauseous? Maybe you should sit down-"

"Wait, no. A coma?" Xabi looked utterly bewildered and Fernando swallowed hard.

"Don't you...remember?" He asked, tentatively. "You were attacked by Creakers."

Xabi glanced at him, and then at Sergio. "I....yeah. I was. But that was....wasn't that just....recently? I can't quite..." He struggled with the words and Fernando decided to put him out of his misery.

"It's alright, it doesn't matter." He stressed, pushing down his own concern. "You've....you've been in a coma for a while. Two months."

"Two months." Xabi simply repeated, an unnerving lack of emotion in his voice.

"Yeah." Fernando fidgeted uncomfortably. "It's a long time."

Xabi just nodded, staring a little past Fernando's shoulder. Fernando looked back at Sergio a little helplessly, who finally decided to come to the rescue.

"You should sit down, Xabi." He said. "We'll get you a drink of water, and you can sit down. You can sleep even, if you want."

Xabi exhaled and closed his eyes. "Yeah. That'd be good. I might go to bed - how far is it to get to the treehouse?"

Fernando and Sergio shared a glance and the latter indicated the coat-slash-pillow. "Sit down, Xabi-"

"It got blown up." Fernando blurted out, with all the tact of a naked leprechaun. "Someone - or, somebody's - blew it up. It's all gone."

Xabi just looked at him, almost as if he wasn't seeing him. "Oh." Was all he said, standing there. "My research...?"

"I'm sorry." Fernando apologised. "We're just moving around, at the minute." He tried to explain, gesturing at the makeshift camp. "We're not too sure where we're going."

"Yeah, because Fernando got us lost." Sergio chipped in.

Fernando glared. "You're not helping."

"Madrid." Xabi just said, as if it was the most normal response.

They both looked at him. "What?" Fernando asked.

"Madrid." He repeated, as if it was simple. "That was Plan B, wasn't it? If we ever lose the treehouse, we go to Madrid?"

"I....was it?" Fernando wracked around in his brain - he was certain Xabi had never mentioned that to him. But, then again, Xabi didn't entrust Fernando with much. Maybe this had been his Plan B all along.

"Yes."

"Oh, right. Well, I suppose it's an option..."

"We can't survive out here. No guaranteed food, no guaranteed water, no guaranteed shelter, no protection from Creakers." Xabi rattled off, as if he was going through the motions. His behaviour unsettled Fernando.

"I guess."

"Madrid has all the resources we need."

"No." Sergio made his presence known again, his voice edged. "Madrid is not an option."

Xabi just wandered over to the bag, and began stuffing all the littered items in to it. "We should set off as soon as possible. We'll want to get there before it's dark."

"I said, no." Sergio repeated and his words trembled. "We are not going to Madrid."

Xabi just glanced at him with a pale face. "Why not?"

"We're just not going to." Sergio looked over towards Fernando. "Right, Fer?"

Xabi looked towards him too and Fernando felt desperately trapped between them. There was no way he could betray Sergio by recounting his very personal tale of horror to Xabi - and there was no way he could dispute Xabi's point that they'd never survive out here. It was only a matter of time before their luck ran out; and then they'd have to face the consequences for being so complacent.

But something was very obviously wrong with Xabi; his behaviour and words were mechanical and...off. Fernando couldn't trust his judgement. Words like _concussion_ and _brain damage_ were buzzing around in his head, making it hard to think.

"I don't know." He uttered weakly.

"Our survival is at stake here. We can't go _on the move_ for five, ten, fifteen years. We need somewhere safe." Xabi tried to push.

"Madrid is not safe." Sergio responded through gritted teeth.

Fernando raked his fingers through his hair. "Maybe we should think about this-"

"There's no time." Xabi said firmly but there was a wobble in his balance as he stood back up from packing the bag. _"I'm_ going to Madrid. You're welcome to come."

"Xabi, something is wrong with you. You need to stop." Fernando tried to plea but Xabi was slinging the bag over his shoulder and heading off in to the trees.

Fernando swore and started furiously fastening his shoe laces.

"What are you doing?" Sergio queried.

"Going after him."

There was silence for a few moments. "You're going to Madrid?"

"I don't have a choice! I can't leave Xabi alone." Fernando protested and gathered up his coat and journal.

"You're choosing him over me."

Fernando wanted to scream. _"We_ are going after him."

"I'm not going to Madrid."

"Fine. Stay here then."

"So, you are picking him over me."

Fernando pulled his coat on with trembling hands. "This isn't a fucking competition, Sergio, it's a desperate struggle to survive! And Xabi won't survive on his own."

Sergio just swallowed. "But you're perfectly happy to take that risk with me?"

"I'm not _happy_ about any of this shit! Now, stop being an idiot and come with us!"

"You're making me go back."

It was like a total role-reversal. Fernando could see Sergio starting to break down in front of his eyes. "I told you what happened to me because I thought you'd understand, Fer. I can't go back to Madrid."

Fernando slumped slightly, his voice softening. "I do understand. But...Xabi's right. He's mad but even when he's mad, he's right. We need Madrid to survive."

"Don't make me go back, Fer." Sergio's voice broke and Fernando broke too. He went over to Sergio and rested their foreheads together. Something Xabi had told him, a while ago, came back to him.

"They need you to survive, Sergio. Your Ma, and Rene and Daniela. You need to survive, so that their deaths keep meaning something. They'd need you to go to Madrid and survive. You live, because they can't."

Their breath intermingled quietly, until Sergio cracked a small smile and said; "You're talking absolute bullshit."

And, despite himself, Fernando laughed. "Yeah, but it's true bullshit."

"Maybe." Sergio just said, but there was amusement in his voice. "And, I suppose....Xabi is right."

"Yeah?"

Sergio nodded. "Yeah. You do stink of sex."

He spluttered with laughter while Fernando gave him a shove and removed his forehead from against Sergio's, straightening up. "So, Madrid?"

Sergio looked like a man who was far from happy but, with a sigh, he picked his coat up from the ground. "Madrid."


	19. 19/11/2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, my sincerest apologies! I finished this at around 10pm last night and thought I'd posted it and then I came on this morning and realised I'd only saved it as a preview draft! Haha! Whoops.
> 
> Today's chapter might be up a little late tonight because El Clasico (party hard).

It was dark when they reached the outskirts of Madrid and the journey had been anything but fun.

Xabi had been marching forward the whole time without looking back once to check that Fernando and Sergio were keeping up with him; whenever Fernando tried to keep up and chat to him, he'd wave off his conversation starters with a simple 'I'm saving my energy for walking'. He refused to even stop for rests, but Fernando managed to convince him once or twice, threatening to knock the coma back in to him and drag him back to where they started so he'd have to repeat the entire journey again - Groundhog Day style.

He'd fidget and agitate and whine until they set off again though, so the rests were short and hurried. They didn't even have time to boil infection off water to drink so they were all seriously dehydrated by the time Madrid came in to sight.

The number of Creakers also increased as they neared the city. Herds of them came in to sight and, really, with Xabi as careless as he was, Fernando didn't want to take the risk of fighting. He made the decision to take safer, longer routes and then spent the whole time fretting about whether it was the right call; he didn't take charge, he didn't lead. He followed what other people wanted him to do. But with Xabi in the state he was and Sergio keeping quiet and moody, he wasn't given much of a choice.

It was relief to reach Madrid without any serious accidents occurring and Fernando suggested setting a base for the night just outside the city, venturing in tomorrow morning.

"Are you mad?" Xabi asked him with an incredulous voice.

 _No, but I think you might be_. "We can't go in to Madrid at night."

"I can." Xabi said and continued down the main road, the Palacio de la Zarzuela wavering in the near distance.

 _Nobody listens to me,_ Fernando wanted to scream but, instead, decided it would be more productive to pursue him and have Sergio get the makeshift camp started. He passed the bag to him. "Get started on this camp, will you? I'll bring Xabi back."

Sergio took the bag from him wordlessly but Fernando could see the _'you're choosing him over me'_ debate raging in his eyes. He ignored it - he had more important issues to focus on right now.

He jogged to catch up with Xabi, falling in to step with him. "Come on, Xabi. Let's go back to the camp."

"No. We need to get to Madrid."

"Why?" Fernando asked, keeping his voice low and an eye out for Creakers.

"Madrid has everything I need-"

"Yes, to survive, I know. We need to stick together to survive."

Xabi didn't respond and Fernando wondered how he hadn't tired; he'd been walking for a solid day after almost two months horizontal.

It became clear, after around fifteen minutes of walking, that Xabi was heading to a particular place. He wasn't wandering aimlessly - the direction was intentional.

"Where are we going, Xabi?" He tried to ask cautiously but was far from surprised when only silence answered him. They were still far from the centre of Madrid and the outskirts seemed to have survived the apocalypse well. The buildings were closed and abandoned but it appeared very few had been raided, very few were destroyed. It simply looked as it did in the summer, when all the Suburban families packed up and left for their holiday.

Except, eerily silent. Not even a Creaker sound could be heard.

He thought about Sergio's story - the bodies that lined the roads of Madrid - and shivers rose on his arms when he realised that no bodies lined the streets now.

After almost half an hour, he grabbed Xabi's arm. "Look, we've gone far enough. It's too dark - we could get ambushed."

"No." Xabi shook him off desperately and there was something so unsettling about the fact that it was _Fernando_ who was reasonable and level-headed with Xabi getting himself in to a state. This dynamic had never existed between them before.

"Xabi, please. What's wrong? Where are you going?" He kept saying and Xabi was still physically stronger than him, if not mentally, and kept marching forward. "Wherever it is you want to go, we'll find it first thing in the morning. I promise!"

"We're almost there." Xabi just stated and Fernando glanced around. They were still in a largely Suburban, residential area; there were no shops for food or water, no pharmacists or hospitals for medical supplies. Just row after row of abandoned homes.

"Do you think we could set up a base here?" Fernando queried, but Xabi had started to run now, down the street, his boots plodding on the road. Fernando tried to keep up, looking behind his shoulder to check they weren't being pursued and almost crashed straight in to Xabi, who'd come to a complete halt.

"What the-" Fernando began but stopped, when he noticed that Xabi had paused beside a particular front gate, that lead to one of the Suburban houses.

"Did you see something?" He asked, scanning all the dark windows for any sign of movement.

Xabi let out a sigh of relief, and turned to Fernando with a smile. "It's still here." He said and Fernando just frowned.

"What?"

Xabi unlatched the gate and began tottering down the path. Fernando followed, shutting the gate behind him with a click. When Xabi bent down and brought out a key from underneath the doormat, it dawned on him.

"Xabi - is this _your_ house?"

"It is." He answered, unlocking the door. "Do you want to meet my family?"

Fernando swallowed, hesitating. "What?"

"The house is still safe. Look," He gestured the intact doors and windows. "Nobody's broken in to it. My family will still be here. I just need to get them."

 _Oh, shit._ "Xabi...." Fernando began cautiously but Xabi was disappearing inside the dark house, leaving the front door ajar.

The words _concussion_ and _brain damage_ and now, _memory loss_ were louder in his head. He joined Xabi inside the house, swallowing against the musty and damp smell of an unused and unkempt home.

Xabi had disappeared from sight but Fernando could hear his calls.

"Nagore? Nagore! It's alright, I'm home!

Fernando followed the voice, feeling his way through the darkness until a dark figure came in to view in a kitchen. "Xabi?"

"They're here somewhere." Xabi said, more to himself than to Fernando and brushed past him. "Nagore? Have you got the kids?"

Fernando heard the tell-tale footsteps of Xabi trekking up the stairs. He ran his hand across one of the countertops, covering his fingertips in dust. He didn't want to tell Xabi; he didn't want to be the one to have to convey that news.

But there was nobody else.

He went up the stairs, seeking out Xabi in one of the bedrooms.

"Where are they?" He asked Fernando, a hint of panic in his voice. "They're meant to be here."

"Xabi-"

"I came to Madrid for them. They're everything I need to survive."

"Xabi, I need to tell-"

"Maybe they're in the garden?" Xabi suggested and tried to walk past Fernando, but he steadied two arms on his shoulders.

"Xabi." He said, his voice shaking. "They're not here."

Xabi simply blinked at him several times, and then asked; "Do you know where they are?"

Fernando paused and pushed Xabi down on to the bed, sitting beside him. "They're not here, Xabi. They've all died." When Xabi frowned at him in confusion, he tried to explain; "They Turned, Xabi. That's....that's what you told me. They're dead now."

Xabi looked at him for a long time, his voice low when he spoke. "Did somebody kill them?"

 _Fuck._ "You killed them, Xabi. You had to."

"What?" Xabi's eyes brimmed with tears and he gave Fernando a shove. _"How can you say that?"_

"I'm so sorry."

"They're supposed to be here, waiting for me." His face crumpled and his breath started to escape in desperate gasps, as if he was suffocating. "I'd never hurt them."

Fernando shook his head and blindly reached for Xabi. "You didn't, Xabi. You saved them. I swear, you saved them."

Xabi began to sob uncontrollably and Fernando tucked him against his shoulder, so that the weeps were muted against his skin. "I'm so sorry, Xabi. I'm so, so sorry." He murmured and he rocked Xabi gently.

They sat there, Xabi heaving and weeping whilst Fernando cradled him, for almost a full hour. Fernando's legs had fallen asleep by the time that Xabi's shakes and sobs subsided, and he was just breathing harshly against his shoulder.

"Can we leave?" He asked in a weak voice and Fernando nodded.

They walked from the house - Fernando waiting patiently as Xabi locked the front door and placed the key back under the doormat - and began retracing their steps back to Sergio.

"Thank you." Xabi whispered eventually.

"For what?"

"For coming with me."

Fernando took his hand and squeezed it. "Xabi."

"Yes.

"You're a good person too."


	20. 20/11/2015

As soon as they reached Sergio, Xabi fell asleep.

He collapsed on the softest patch of grass available and was snoring softly within minutes. Fernando wrapped his coat around Xabi, his chest tightening at the tear streaks that still stained his cheeks.

Sergio watched the entire interaction - Fernando could feel his eyes on him - but didn't say a word. He'd lit a fire that was roaring comfortably and was leaning against the nearest stone, playing around with the matches. Fernando fished his journal out of the bag and took a seat near the fire, beginning to write in it. He hadn't had an opportunity to write since the treehouse was destroyed and he had to recount everything that had occurred since.

His memoirs were far more interesting than they'd been three months ago - when it had just been him and Xabi, the same routine each day, the same blissful ignorance towards the realities of the apocalypse.

Those days were better; even if he had felt inadequate and unimportant.

He scribbled down the theories over what had happened with the treehouse, trekking around the wilderness, burning the Creakers, Xabi's awakening and desperate search for his dead family. He dithered over mentioning that he'd been weak and naïve and slept with Sergio but he was the only person that was going to read this - as long as he kept Sergio's sneaky hands away from it - and he didn't need to hide anything. He wrote down the fact that he'd dearly missed that familiar, physical connection with Sergio and then wrote three pages about how annoyed he'd been with Sergio for convincing him in the first place; just to balance it up.

Sergio watched him the whole time; he'd drop the matches deliberately and then make a big show of picking them up, and he'd change his position frequently and loudly. Fernando knew it was a desperate attempt to get his attention. He ignored the blatant efforts with a small smile, focusing on his journal.

_Xabi had told us that the chemical structure of the water compound in an infected host was altered and so the skin on Creakers was far more flammable than an average human. I knew that if I could somehow set the Creakers on fire, they should disintegrate at a faster rate than-_

"Fernando."

Fernando paused writing, his pencil still poised. "Yes?"

"Where did you and Xabi go?"

He shrugged. "Xabi wanted to see his family."

Sergio asked; "Where are his family?"

"They're dead." He continued jotting down the events of the past few days and neglecting Sergio's attempt to maintain the conversation.

_My hand has been bandaged up but we're running out of medical supplies. We'll hope to find a hospital or pharmacist tomorrow and stock up on-"_

Sergio put the matches down and stood up, stretching. "Fernando."

"Hmm?"

"I might have a wander around."

Fernando scribbled out a misspelled word. "Okay."

It clearly wasn't the answer Sergio had been hoping for and his shoulders slumped. "Do you want to come?" He asked.

"I can't leave Xabi alone."

Sergio scuffed at the ground with his trainers. "You're alright if I head off then? On my own?"

"Sure." _Had he already mentioned the discarded gas canisters?_ He flicked back through his pages.

Sergio seemed to dither and then sighed, sitting back down in the same spot as before. He picked up the matches again and began scraping them against the rock. Fernando tried to continue his writing but the friction of the match against the rock sent shivers down his spine.

"Can you stop that?"

"What's that?" Sergio asked, picking up another match and scraping that one too.

"Stop doing that." He closed the journal and finally looked over at Sergio. "You're wasting valuable resources."

Sergio shrugged and continued. "We'll pick up more."

"That's not the point-" Fernando began and then snapped, standing up and ripping the box of matches from his hands. "From now on you're....not allowed to touch them."

Sergio pushed his bottom lip out in a pout. "You're so mean to me."

"Quit being childish." He took the matches and his journal and stuffed them back in the bag. He'd use it as a pillow - just to make sure Sergio couldn't grab them.

"I'm not." Sergio continued. "It's true. You are mean to me - that's all you've been to me since I arrived. All you've done is ignore me and dismiss me and rebuke any attempt I've made to try and make things better between us."

Fernando scoffed. "Right, because you've been such an angel. You go out of your way to irritate me - drawing in my journal, reading it, asking stupid and baited questions all the time - it's all deliberate. You're trying to get a rise out of me!"

"How else can I get you to even look at me, Fer? How else can I get you to give me the time of day?" Sergio said, a little desperately. "What do I have to do to have a conversation with you?"

Fernando blinked. "I...we do have conversations."

"Oh, of course - like when I tell you about my niece being raped and killed. That kind of conversation?"

"No, of course not, I didn't mean that." He fumbled around for an example and found that there really wasn't a lot to choose from. "Well, what about when you told me you still loved me?"

Sergio swallowed. "Right. When I told you I still loved you and we had sex and then you shut me out all over again?"

"That's not what happened."

"Then what happened?"

"I....was pressured."

Sergio spluttered. _"What?_ I gave you the option to leave and you didn't."

"What do you want me to say, Sergio?" Fernando gestured with his arms. "Yes, I do still have feelings for you. And yes, I wanted to have sex with you. But it wasn't right; it was far too much, far too soon."

Sergio suddenly scrambled to his feet. "Do you still love me, too?"

"I don't....I don't know, don't ask me that."

"It's not a hard question - you either do or you don't."

"It's a very complicated question!" Fernando shot back. "Do you still love me?

Sergio frowned. "I've already told you that I do."

"No," Fernando began, trying to translate the mess in his head to coherent sentences. "Do you love _me?_ Not your ex who reminds you of a time when you had a normal life, and a family, and a job. _Me_ \- anxiety and breakdowns and all."

The light from the fire was too dim to make out Sergio's expression. It was just shadows and shapes dancing across his skin. "Yes." He said. "I do."

"That was too quick. You didn't think about it."

"I don't need to. I love _you_ , I always have."

Fernando gave a small snort. "Of course. I remember how much you loved all my panic-attacks before."

Sergio winced at his comment. "I don't regard the handling of your anxiety problems as one of my finest moments." He said, his voice low. "I screwed up, Fernando. I handled the whole thing badly - in fact, I didn't handle it at all. And I'm so, so sorry. But you didn't make things easy for me - how was I even supposed to know you had diagnosed anxiety issues when you wouldn't tell me? You kept it all hidden."

"I know." Fernando said quietly, blowing out air from the corner of his mouth. "I'd never talked to anyone about my anxiety before; except, my therapist. I didn't know how to talk about it."

"Well, do it now."

"What?"

Sergio sat down cross-legged and patted the spot next to him. Cautiously, Fernando took a seat, leaving a good few inches of space between them. Sergio watched him expectantly and when Fernando just looked at him with a blank expression, he said; "Tell me about your anxiety."

"Oh." Fernando gave a small shrug. "Well, I have severe anxiety."

Sergio rolled his eyes. "Yeah, alright. When were you diagnosed? How does it make you feel? How do you cope with it? All of that stuff."

Fernando considered it for a moment and glanced down at the dusty grass beneath him. "I was diagnosed when I was thirteen. I had breakdowns and panic-attacks before then; it made it difficult for any family to foster me because my behaviour was so temperamental. The care workers said it was likely just a phase - that they'd had kids with all sorts of issues that they grew out over time - but mine just got worse. It got to a point where I couldn't even be in a room with more than two people, otherwise my chest would tighten and I'd start to hyperventilate."

"So I was diagnosed, eventually, and I started to see Dr. Di Matteo. My condition improved but, it never went away. It's always there; I have panic-attacks whenever I get scared or stressed and because I'm worried about having a panic-attack, I'm always scared and stressed. It's kind of a Catch-22; a vicious circle, or whatever. And I'm still not great at managing it."

"What about....being overly-dependant and everything?" Sergio asked.

Fernando shrugged again. "It's just the severe anxiety; it's all hooked in to my psychological fears though, about being abandoned and unloved. Your typical, childhood trauma clichés." He tried to joke but Sergio wasn't laughing. He sighed. "It's something I can't ever get rid of."

"Well...you wouldn't be you, if you did."

"Don't use all that character-defining bullshit on me." Fernando smiled and poked him in the arm. "Anyway, that's about it. I should probably get some sleep."

It was the most tactless way for him to end the conversation but it was done and he stood back up, sussing out a spot where he could keep a close eye on Xabi. He hesitated for a second, glancing at Sergio. "Thank you. For asking...and listening."

Sergio just nodded and he dithered again, before picking a different spot. It was still close to fire and he could keep one eye on Xabi - but he could keep one on Sergio, too.


	21. 21/11/2015

_Fernando spent the following Monday packing up all his belongings from the classroom._

_The replacement teacher had called up and asked that he remove all his things because it was clogging up the desk space. They hadn't cared when Fernando stressed that he was just taking a sabbatical and would be back within a few weeks. The teacher even told him that they'd been asked to cover for the remainder of the school year; something that the school had seemingly forgotten to tell Fernando._

_He was stuffing the cardboard box with all his folders and staplers and special stickers that he gave to the students, leaving his reports and progress reviews for the replacement teacher. There was something sad about seeing his desk look so bare and generic; he'd spent the past two years personalising it for him, and the children._

_And he'd thrown all that away because of his stupid, stupid anxiety._

_The door clicked open and he glanced up, surprised. The school day had finished half an hour ago._

_Daniela poked her small head around the doorframe. "Mr. Torres?"_

_"Daniela?"_

_She pushed the door open completely and wandered in to the classroom. "Can I wait in here?"_

_"Um, sure." He pulled out the desk that sat opposite his desk for her. "What are you still doing here?"_

_She went and perched in the chair, dropping her_ Hello Kitty _backpack on the floor. "Ma is late. I'm supposed to wait in the classroom."_

_"Do you have any homework to do?" Fernando asked, continuing with shoving in as many as his belongings as possible in to the cardboard box._

_Daniela shook her head, watching him. "Why are you packing, Mr. Torres?"_

_"Well," Fernando paused in putting his box of paperclips in to the box. "It's complicated."_

_Daniela just blinked at him. "Can you explain?"_

Of course. _"The school is giving me some time off."_

_"Why? Are you ill?"_

_Fernando sighed; he couldn't pretend forever. "Kind of. It really is complicated, Daniela."_

_"I'm really clever."_

_He smiled. "I can't argue there."_

_"I'll understand. I promise." She persisted._

_"I just...get very nervous about things."_

_"Nervous?"_

_"Yes. And the school thought it would be best if I took some time to stop feeling nervous."_

_Daniela frowned. "What's wrong with being nervous? I get nervous all the time when you make us do spelling tests."_

_Fernando laughed slightly, rolling up the wad of stickers. "I can get nervous about silly things. And...it can make me stressed." He said. Daniela was eyeing the stickers and he paused. "Do you want these?"_

_"Really?"_

_"Of course." He put the roll of stickers in to her hand. She unravelled them, gliding her fingertips over the different stickers._

_"My favourite was always the dancing sun." She told him, peeling it from the paper._

_"That's a good choice."_

_She held the sticker between her fingertips and pressed it against the plain, cardboard box. "You can have it." She looked over towards the CD players. "Are you taking your music too?"_

_"My music?"_

_Daniela nodded. "The music you play to us."_

_"Oh." He smiled. Somehow, he'd managed to foster a new generation of_ El Canto Del Loco _fans. "Well, I was going to. Unless, you'd like to keep listening to it?"_

_Another nod. "Yes."_

_"Then I'll ask your new teacher to play it." He said and folded over the lids of the box. "Shall I wait with you until your mother is here?"_

_She stuffed the stickers in her rucksack and slid from the chair, hoisting the bag over her shoulder. "No. I'll wait in reception."_

_They wandered out to together, Daniela nattering about anything that came to mind, until they reached the reception._

_"You're definitely alright on your own? I can wait with you if you'd like?"_

_"I'm okay." She said._

_He gave her another smile, and turned to head out the sliding doors of the school building. Her voice echoed behind him before he'd taken a step._

_"You'll be back soon, won't you?"_

_He hesitated. "We'll see."_

_When he arrived back at his apartment, he realised that he had no idea when he'd be back. When would he_ _be back? Him, Fernando. When would he get back to that point in his life before it all went wrong? This time last year, he'd be unlucky to have a panic-attack twice a year. Now, he had one almost every day. His condition hadn't improved, it had worsened._

_Because everything made it worse; his job, his apartment, even Daniela. They were all Sergio in his head - the place they'd met, the home they'd shared together, the family he'd sort-of shared with him._

_And it hit him - he was never going to get that future. He was never going to get the suburban home and the people-carrier and the stupid, Sunday barbeques._ _He was surrounded by a life that wasn't his anymore; it was all just remnants of something he'd let slip through his fingers._

_Because he was a brainless, pathetic excuse for an adult who couldn't get over his petty fears. No wonder Sergio had become fed up with him._

_He dumped the cardboard box on the floor and stumbled in to his room, dragging out a suitcase. Tossing open all his drawers, he shoved in as many clothes as he could and then grabbed all the toiletries from his bathroom, flinging them in too._

_Daniela's voice was ringing in his head;_ "Why are you packing?"

_Hell if he knew._

_Hell if he even cared._

_He just needed to escape._

_*_

They went in search of a pharmacist the following morning.

Sergio was incredibly cautious about venturing too far in to Madrid but after some pushing and prodding from Fernando, he reluctantly agreed. His shoulders were set the whole time, wound up tight like a cat waiting to spring. And Fernando hated himself for forcing Sergio to come but, if he didn't, he'd get another 'you're choosing Xabi' speech thrown at him, so he was damned either way. He might as well be damned and certain that everyone was safe.

Sergio was particularly unnerved at the fact that all the bodies on the streets were missing and he brought the fact up to Fernando several times.

"I don't know," He'd say. "Maybe they're all Creakers now?"

Sergio wouldn't respond.

As they wandered deeper and deeper in to the city, shops popped up along the streets. They passed one or two pharmacists but the shops had already been looted and anything of use had been stolen already. A fifteen minute hunt through the nearest hospital proved pointless too; they were far too late. Medical supplies will have been the first to be raided when the infection began.

Fernando began to recognise the familiar streets and roads as they hit the district he'd lived and worked in. An idea grew in his head.

"They'll have medical supplies at the school."

"What?" Xabi asked.

"At the school I worked at. The infirmary - there won't be anything too fancy, but plasters, bandages, ice-packs?" He shrugged. "I doubt anyone will have thought to look there."

Xabi nodded. "Alright. Lead the way."

It was late afternoon when they reached the school. Fernando's chest pinched at the sight of the familiar building, and the familiar motto inscribed across the front gates.

_Et cras erit illorum._

And tomorrow will be theirs. His chest pinched more.

He pushed open the glass doors - still intact - and glanced around the reception. The school appeared almost untouched by the apocalypse; there wasn't a speck of dust out of place.

He pointed down the corridor. "Infirmary is on the second right. I'll be just a minute." He left the pair of them to suss out any useful, medical supplies and wandered down the opposite corridor, in search of his old classroom.

The door was locked but several minutes - and a bruised shoulder - later, he'd managed to barge it open. Dust and dank greeted his nostrils as the air from the classroom hit him and he choked slightly.

He cautiously made his way in to the room; it was all as untouched as the rest of the building. Tables and chairs still set for class, folders and files still littering the desk, the class hamster still in his cage but dead and rotting.

His chest became almost unbearable when he caught sight of Elissa Malone's butterfly cycle chart pinned up on the wall. He remember stapling it, having spent many hours searching for it in a desperate attempt not to let her down. Other charts had been pinned up too and his eyes scanned over the names.

_Alberto, Claudia, Isadora, Paolo, Yasmin._

And tomorrow will be theirs - except, none of these children would have a tomorrow.

He turned to the abandoned CD player and, on a whim, went and pressed the play button. There was a lot of scratching and buzzing and then, a stuttering song began to play. He smiled when he recognised it. _Puerda Seu. El Canto Del Loco._

"Are you alright?" He heard Sergio's voice from behind him.

"They're all dead, aren't they?" He asked, and turned around to face him. "All the students I taught. They'll all be dead, won't they?" He wasn't sure why the realisation was only hitting him now.

"Yeah." Sergio said quietly. "I suppose they will be."

"Isadora is never going to be a pilot. Aaron is never going to be an actor. Pedro is never going to be a nurse." He exhaled slowly. "I told them they were going to be all those things. But, they won't."

"I know." Sergio said, and squeezed his wrist. He indicated the CD player. "I remember Daniela telling me that you played this."

"She asked me to keep it." He answered and ran his finger along the CD case. He sighed, and moved to turn it off.

Sergio caught at his hand. "Keep it playing then." He suggested. "For her."

Fernando gave him a wry smile. "Alright." He notched the volume up a little louder, until the words were audible.

Sergio laced their fingers together and pulled Fernando closer, curling a hand around his waist and beginning to move them slowly.

"What are you doing?"

Sergio shrugged. "Dancing." He answered with a grin and gave Fernando an awkward twirl.

"You're insane."

"So are you."

Fernando smiled. "Yeah," He said. "I guess I am." He allowed Sergio to spin them around the room - tripping over chair and table legs - and then he asked; "We'll survive this, won't we?" He let Sergio pull him closer. "These kids, they don't have a tomorrow. But, we will?"

Sergio smiled back. "Tomorrow is all ours, Fernando." There was something in his voice that Fernando hadn't heard for many, many months. Something akin to hope.

"Hey, Fernando?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it alright if I call you Fer?"

Fernando pretended to ponder over the question for a while. "I don't know," He mused. "I always preferred sex kitten."

Sergio spluttered out the beginnings of a laugh but it was cut short as something sharp whistled past their ears and exploded in to the CD player. The music was abruptly stopped and plastic and metal splintered across the room.

Fernando whipped around towards the door - an unfamiliar man was stood there, his gun poised. Sergio immediately gripped Fernando's arm and pulled him back.

A slow but bemused smile spread across the man's face and, with the gun still trained on them, he fished out an old walkie-talkie. There was a lot of crackling down the line and it sliced through the thick atmosphere in the room.

"Hello? Hello? Raul?" The man spoke down the device with a rough voice, his eyes cold and edged. But they weren't focused on Fernando - in fact, Fernando was certain he hadn't even registered on the man's radar. His gaze was completely fixated on Sergio.

A response buzzed down the line and the man gave another smile. "You won't believe who I've just found."


	22. 22/11/2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies about yesterday, I was in A&E over a broken thumb! I'm now having to type with one hand, haha! XD

This was breakdown territory - Fernando could feel it bubbling inside his stomach like acid, sharp and nauseating.

But he didn't surrender to the sensation; and the realisation that he was maintaining control would have held more relief were there not a gun trained on his face.

He reached out blindly for Sergio's hand but the movement didn't go unnoticed by the man, and he flirted with the trigger on the gun.

"Hands on your head." He directed at them, still in conversation with the walkie-talkie and Fernando immediately followed the order. Sergio kept his by his side. "On your head, Ramos." The man repeated. "Or I'll send bullets through his kneecaps." He indicated Fernando.

With slow caution, Sergio placed his hands on his head. Satisfied, the man continued to murmur in to the walkie-talkie with a voice too low to hear but his eyes never left the pair of them. They remained utterly cold and focused.

Fernando tried to lip read the conversation the man was having but the only words he caught on to were _'school'_ and _'Sergio'_. He wanted to ask Sergio who the man was but he also wanted to keep his kneecaps, so he chose to keep silent.

The man eventually stuffed the walkie-talkie back in to the thick, leather belt that adorned his jeans and - with the gun still on Fernando - pointed at Sergio. "Back against the wall."

Sergio backed up against the near wall and he was lost from Fernando's line of sight. He could only the watch the man and his reactions. He snapped his fingers. "Turn around." Fernando waited and when the man suddenly walked up to him and bashed him around the nose with the butt of the gun, he knew Sergio hadn't moved.

"I'm not going to warn you again, Ramos."

Pain exploded across Fernando's face and it took all his strength not to drop his hands from his head and clutch his nose. A small whimper escaped.

"Keep your back turned." The man spoke over towards Ramos and then returned his attention to Fernando. He brought the sleeve of his jacket over his hand and wiped roughly at Fernando's nose. Fernando hadn't even realised it was bleeding until the man took his hand away and his sleeve was stained with blood.

"What's your name?" He queried, dragging the bag off Fernando's shoulder and placing it on the nearest table.

Fernando tried to think back to all those spy movies that Sergio forced him to watch when they were dating because he was obsessed with them but no brilliant or ingenious escape plans came to mind.

"Fernando Torres." His voice was thick with the blood that dribbled from his nose.

"So, Fernando," The man began to rifle through the contents of the bag, bringing out the matches, the torch, the first-aid kit, and the journal. "Are you alone?"

"Yes." He said, quickly. If Xabi had any common sense, he'd scarper as soon as he heard the commotion coming from the classroom.

The man nodded and then picked up the journal, beginning to flick through the pages.

"Please, don't." Fernando pleaded slightly. "That's mine."

"Tell me," He ignored Fernando and continued to scan through the journal. "How did you survive the explosion?"

"Explosion?" The tang of blood in his mouth was sharp and sickening.

The man quirked an eyebrow up at him. "Yes. We thought we'd managed to bump you and your friend off for good. Of course," He glanced over Fernando's shoulder, towards Sergio. "We wouldn't have even considered it if we'd known you were harbouring one of ours."

Fernando's thoughts wandered towards the treehouse. "That was _you?"_

"You didn't really think you were alone out there, did you?" He smiled and closed the journal. "I take it your friend wasn't as lucky as you?" Fernando didn't respond, and the man laughed slightly, sliding the journal back in to the bag. "How long have you been in Madrid for?"

"Just a couple of days."

"How did Sergio find you?"

"He didn't find me. I found him." He said, and then added; "Finders keepers."

The man choked out a laugh. "You think he's yours?"

"He is."

"He never stopped being ours." The man thrust the rest of the items back in to the bag and clipped it shut. "We've been searching for him for a long time." He hauled the bag over his own shoulder and - with the gun back in his hand - walked around the back, until Fernando couldn't see him anymore.

"Thank you for answering my questions, Fernando." He said. And then something solid connected with the back of his head.

And everything went black.

*

"Fernando? Fernando?"

From a far, far away place, Fernando could hear his name being called.

"Fernando?"

"Huh?" He murmured groggily and blinked through a thick haze that shrouded his gaze. It felt like cobwebs were draped over his eyeballs.

"Fernando?"

He moaned again and tried reaching out blindly with his hands. Nothing happened though and, for a split-second, he wondered if the knock to his head had paralysed him.

"Wh-what's going on?" He managed to spit out, his words slow and lazy. He still couldn't see or move. The smell of meat hit his nostrils.

A hard grasp grabbed his hair and it wasn't until he was shoved upright that he realised he'd been lying flat on his back. His vision began to orientate itself once he was sat in an upright position; he was greeted by the sight of a man with dark hair and thick stubble, watching him with curious eyes. There was a fire roaring and a cold wind and he realised that he was outside.

"What's going on?" He just repeated, struggling again with his hands.

"Don't bother, Fernando. They're bound." The man said and he could suddenly recognise the feeling of thick, wired rope digging in to his wrists. "I am sorry about that; I'm sure you understand that we have to take precautions."

There was a muffled groan and Fernando noticed that Sergio was sat several feet away - he was also bound but, unlike Fernando, he'd been gagged too. There was a storm raging in his eyes.

"I'm Raul, Fernando." The man said and sat opposite him, cross-legged. "I apologise for Jese's behaviour earlier. I wanted both you and Sergio unharmed."  

Fernando glanced around the darkness, at the high building just in front of them and the grass underneath him.

"We're in the school playground, if you were wondering." Raul answered his unasked question. "It's too late for us to return back to our base. We're camping here for the night." He added; "Don't worry about the infected. We patrol regularly."

"It's not the infected that I'm worried about." Fernando's words were still laced with sleep but he conveyed it well enough and Raul quirked an amused smile.

"Why should you be scared of us?" He nodded his head towards Sergio. "Has Sergio been telling you ghost stories?"

"Why have you gagged him?"

"So that we could have a chat together. Uninterrupted." Raul brought out a notebook from his hands and Fernando recognised it as his journal. "Jese tells me that you wrote this?"

Fernando swallowed. "I did."

"It's very interesting." Raul commented. "Very interesting."

"It's mine." Fernando tried to plead again. He couldn't stand the thought of all these strangers reading his journal.

"Yours." Raul chuckled and met his eyes. "The first rule, Fernando, is that nothing is yours." He waved the journal around. "This belongs to everyone now. Everything is shared out."

"Including women?"

Raul laughed again - a full, open laugh. "Sergio didn't spare the gory details, it seems." He leered. "We take what is owed. We don't give out shelter and food and protection for free. We're not a charity; we're an army."

"Against what?"

Raul gestured his hands. "This new world." He leaned in closer. "We do whatever is necessary to keep the human race alive and we sacrifice anyone who threatens that. Sergio's girl was...unfortunate. We could've used her. But she would never have survived.

"We don't want your protection or food or anything." Fernando tried to reason, sickened at the tone that Raul was using. "Just let us go. We'll leave Madrid. It doesn't matter."

Raul let out a smaller, colder laugh. "Sergio is ours. He won't be going anywhere. Do you want to leave him?"

Fernando kept silent, glancing over at Sergio - who was attempting to convey something desperately with his eyes but the intention was lost on Fernando.

Raul stood up, the journal still in his hands. "This," He tapped the notebook. "Is ours now. And we - collectively - no longer have a use for it."

And he tossed it towards the fire.

 _"No, please!"_ Fernando shouted, watching with horror as his journal landed in the flames and the pages began to char and cinder. _"Please, take it out!"_

Raul glanced towards the fire and then Fernando, and shrugged. "We keep only assets, Fernando."

Tears burned the back of Fernando's eyelids as the journal disintegrated in front of him, dissolving in to ash.

"Now, your writing _was_ interesting." Raul continued, oblivious to the adult man bursting in to tears. "It really doesn't seem as if you're much of an asset to us either, Fernando." He bent down, his face level and Fernando could feel his warm breath on his cheek. "We aren't bad people. But we only want assets; we don't waste resources on anything else. The only reason you're still alive, is because you might be able to keep _him,_ " He indicated Sergio. "In line."

Fernando spat in his face.

Raul scowled and grabbed Fernando's chin between his fingers, digging in to his skin. "That doesn't make you untouchable, Fernando." He growled. "The second rule is that nobody is irreplaceable." He released Fernando's face and stood back up. "You could have a role, Fernando. A part to play. Don't you want that? Isn't that what you wrote about in your diary?"

Fernando's cheeks flushed when realised that anything and everything he'd written in that journal could be used against him.

"Sergio won't attempt anything too stupid if he knows we could snap the life out of you with one click, Fernando." He turned his gaze over to Sergio and waved over two men. "We won't have a repeat of last time."

The two men grabbed both of Sergio's arms and lifted him from the floor. Raul approached him. "You killed six of our men, Sergio. Do you remember?" He yanked down the gag from Sergio's mouth.

"I remember them raping my niece." He spat out.

"You should have stayed in line." Raul simply said.

Sergio stared back at him with dark eyes. "I'm going to kill you."

"Do you not understand?" Raul asked and he pointed towards Fernando. "Don't think for a second that my men are picky, Sergio. Step out of line again, and I won't just let them have him, I'll encourage it." He flicked his gaze to the men. "Keep him out of sight."

Sergio was dragged away until he was just a retreating shadow in the darkness. Raul turned back to Fernando. "Don't worry too much, Fernando. Empty threats maintain order."

Fernando didn't believe him for one second.

"You should eat something." Raul indicated the paper plate by his feet, and the smell of flesh explained itself as a slab of half-raw meat sat upon it.

"What is it?" Fernando had cooked his fair share of rabbit and squirrel - this was neither.

Raul laughed. "Where do you think all the bodies have gone, Fernando?"

It was all too much for him in too short a space of time; he twisted to the side and threw up, the acid burning his throat. Raul continued to laugh.

"Vomit as much as you like." He said. "You're making the journey tomorrow, whether you've eaten or not. And believe me - it's a long one."


	23. 23/11/2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, apologies over yesterday. I had the splint taken off my thumb because, turns out, it was just a sprain, haha! I can write with two hands again now. 
> 
> Anyone want to bet that I'll finish this for the 30th November? XD (I'm thinking around the 3rd/4th December).

Raul might have been a lot of things but he wasn't a liar.

Fernando was woken up at the crack of dawn - sleep having eventually beaten him and he'd curled up on the grass, his hands still bound behind his back - and they'd been on the road for hours.

The man at the school - Jese - was the designated frontman and led the pack, that familiar gun sat in his hands. Raul and Fernando followed suit and Sergio brought up the rear, flanked by the two men who'd dragged him off the night before. Raul's arm was slung over Fernando's shoulder and Fernando had no doubt that it was a direct message to Sergio; _I could break his neck with one snap if you put a single toe out of line._

They didn't stop once for a break or rest but only Fernando seemed remotely exhausted; Raul was nattering non-stop to him for the whole time. He talked to Fernando about _'his mission',_ as he liked to call it, in saving the human race. That he'd been a Sergeant Lieutenant before the infection and had been ordered to protect the Royal Palace - the Royal family had been temporarily evacuated though, of course, they never returned. Raul had gathered his platoon together and they'd converted the Royal Palace in to a safe house. They were raided in the very early days; a landmark like the Royal Palace would be one of the first places to be robbed once it was obvious that civilisation had well and truly fallen. And the years of army training turned out to be of very little help - they'd been low on arms and their military tactics were outdated in this, new world.

They'd broken in to the police station and taken as many weapons as they could; revolvers, grenades, Tasers, knives. Then they took over a supermarket instead. It was smaller but easier to manage and there was very little threat of starvation. It was their base for months and they managed to collect a group of almost a hundred people. Anyone they found, they'd take them in and give them whatever it was they needed - Raul's words - and all that was asked in return was that they pay them back. For the older more capable people, it could be in something as simple as fighting and protecting; becoming one of the Guard. For those who were younger - and Daniela was never mentioned, but Fernando knew - it was in whatever they could give. In some cases, that might have been sex; which was hard to find during an apocalypse and _men had needs._

Raul described the situation as perfect; they were maintaining the existence of the human race and sacrifices were necessary. Survival of the fittest, natural selection, whatever Fernando wanted to call it. They were keeping the brightest and the best alive.

They lost the supermarket to a Creaker invasion. A lot of his men were lost - Raul sent Sergio a withering look - and they had to start again. Somewhere bigger and better than before; the Plaza Mayor. They'd cleared the area of Creakers and taken over the sprawling square; with makeshift fencing and outlooks and perimeters. Full camps had been erected, including food tents and first-aid tents and an armoury tent. They were recreating civilisation as it should be, as Raul put it.

Fernando listened to the entire ramblings in silence, far too exhausted and unnerved to make small talk. He did manage to ask one question, when he noticed that they were taking a particularly long route to the Plaza Mayor, diverting all over the place.

"Isn't it quicker to take the main road?" He asked, when they turned down yet another side-road.

Raul gestured around. "We've marked and noted all the Creaker infestations in Madrid. The main roads are often crawling with them. We've signposted them too, it's just a mile down the road." He gave Fernando a smile. "Don't you see? We're doing _good_ here."

"That's yet to be seen." He muttered back and Raul laughed.

"Oh, you will, Fernando."

They reached the Plaza Mayor at dusk. And, well - Fernando couldn't lie. He was impressed.

A huge, ornate gate - that must have taken at least thirty men to carry - adorned the main road that led to the famous square and heavy, wooden posts had been constructed on either side, flanked by two men on each post. As they approached the gate, Jese gave a salute with his hands and the gate was cranked open with a heavy cog. The grinding noise made Fernando's skin crawl and even more so when he caught the stares of the men on watch; small, identical smirks on every one of their faces.

They all whistled when Sergio was brought in after, cackling and whooping like rowdy, football hooligans. Fernando heard Sergio snap something back and then a hand connected with the back of his head.

"Lines, lines, lines." Raul simply said to Sergio and Fernando winced, wishing his hands were unbound if only to rub at his throbbing head.

Fernando could hear the gate cranked shut behind him but Raul's arm around his neck made it impossible for him to look anywhere except straight ahead.

The Plaza Mayor looked like a medieval jousting tournament; white tents were everywhere, littered around the square.

"We've coloured-coded the tents." Raul was explaining. "The red flags mean first-aid, green flags mean food, yellow flags are the sleeping quarters and so forth. Pretty neat, huh?" He smiled more to himself than Fernando. "See, it's these little things, Fernando. Little details that keep us civilised."

_Pretentious fucker._

Men and women alike gave Raul small nods of recognition as they passed him and the movements were all frightened and tense; there was nothing respectful about it. Raul kept Fernando pushing through the hoards of people, pushing on and on until they'd reached the opposite end of the square.

The high-topped building in front of them was heavily guarded and Raul handed Fernando to Jese, jogging up the steps to converse with the armed men.

Jese's hold was much tighter and more painful than Raul's had been and Fernando tried to struggle loose. Jese took the movement as an attempt to escape altogether and quickly butted the end of his gun against Fernando's left knee.

"Don't think I've forgotten about your kneecaps." He hissed as Fernando yelped. "We just need you alive; you don't have to walk."

Fernando scowled at him but kept quiet and allowed Jese's hold on him to get even tighter. He tried to look over his shoulder at Sergio but Jese clasped a hand around the back of his neck and kept it still.

Raul strode back down the steps to meet them and waved for Jese to remove his hands. "Fernando isn't a prisoner, Jese, he's one of ours. No need for the police custody drill." And he coaxed Fernando out of Jese's reach, directing him back down in the direction they'd come.

"We want to get you to work as soon as possible, Fernando."

"Doing what?"

"Whatever we need you to do." Raul said, leading him through the vast array of tents. "You owe us."

"For what?"

"Saving you?"

_"From what?"_

"This awful, barbaric world."

"You mean, the kind of world where men rape young girls?"

Raul tutted. "We are saving civilisation, Fernando. There will be humans still on this earth a hundred years from now, living freely and safely, because of _us;_ who's going to cry over one, little girl who simply gave what she owed?"

"You're a rapist."

"I'm a saviour." Raul shot back, his eyes snapping. "And that's what I'll be remembered for."

They reached a large, marquee tent, adorned with yellow flags. "This is one of our communal quarters. You can rest here for tonight and start work tomorrow." Raul continued, as if they hadn't been talking about Daniel at all. 

Raul snapped the rope that bound Fernando's hands together and he flexed his wrists for the first time in almost two days. "Sergio?"

"Is somewhere else."

"Bring him here."

Raul sighed. "You don't get it, Fernando, do you? I have no doubt that Sergio has already mastered around fifteen escape plans and routes to hightail it out of here; but he won't be using any of them without you. You're the carrot on his stick."

"What makes you so certain?" Fernando queried. "Sergio could be ten miles from this place already."

"Because I've read your journal, Fernando." Raul said and pointed to the marquee entrance. "Get some sleep - work starts early in this place." He began to turn around before pausing and adding; "And before you think about having a scamper around for Sergio, we have a full Guard on watch; purely for protection purposes."

Raul slipped off between the crowds, the people parting for him like the red sea, and disappeared from sight.

Fernando considered having 'a scamper around' for Sergio but eyed up the heavy artillery that the Guard were sporting and went in to the tent instead.

It was heaving inside the marquee; around thirty people were squashed on small, hospital beds that were lined up like dominoes. Fernando hadn't even pondered over the thought that thirty people had survived the infection; yet, here they all were. Dirty and ragged and exhausted, but alive.

He spotted a spare bed over in the far corner and hastily made his way over to it, ignoring all the curious and uncertain stares that were sent his way. He hadn't dealt with this many people in....ever? His anxiety had always limited the number of people he felt comfortable around and this was a new level entirely.

He toed off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket, snuggling down quickly in the bed and hiding under the duvet. He could hear the coughing and murmuring of the people around but if he couldn't see them, it helped loosen the belt that was tightening around his chest.

And finding sleep was easier said than done.

He had no Xabi.

He had no Sergio.

He had no journal.

He had one bed in a tent and the promise of hard labour tomorrow.

_That boring routine in the treehouse didn't seem so bad now, huh._


	24. 24/11/2015

Fernando didn't get a wink of sleep that night.

His pulse was throbbing underneath his skin with panic at the thought of Xabi or Sergio; the fabric of the marquee was thin and the noise and chill from the Plaza Mayor seeped through with ease; the Guard patrolled the tent at regular intervals with automatic rifles and Fernando could swear they were looking straight at him; and the woman in the bed next to him was in complete distress.

She'd been wailing and sobbing all night, flailing around underneath the duvet. Fernando had thought she was having a nightmare until he noticed that her eyes were stretched open and leaking.

 _"I don't want, I don't want it."_ She kept shouting in a squeal. _"Don't make me have it, I don't want it."_

Nobody paid her any attention; Fernando was fairly certain that nobody had even looked in her direction. He'd attempted to sleep with his back to her but it all became too much and he conceded defeat, sitting up in the bed and wrapping the duvet around him like a blanket.

"Are you alright?" He asked her - an utterly ridiculous question when she practically needed restraining to the bed, but what else was he supposed to ask?

She turned to him in surprise - possibly at being spoken to directly - and a fresh wave of tears hit. _"I don't want it. I don't want it."_

"What don't you want?" Fernando tried to ask in the calmest voice possible.

 _"Please, don't make me have it. I can't do it."_ Her dark hair was plastered to her face with sweat and tears and her gaze was erratic, unfocused. He shifted a little closer to her, keeping the duvet tight around himself.

"Please, what's wrong?" He kept pushing and fleetingly wondered whether he'd been this difficult in the midst of his own panic-attacks. "I can help."

_Yeah, right._

_"They're making me have it. I don't want to have it! I don't want it!"_

One of her arms breached from underneath the duvet and fumbled around. A little precariously, Fernando reached out and she clamped down on his wrist. _"I don't want it."_

Fernando winced when her nails broke through the skin. "I don't understand what's wrong." He tried to plea with her. He just wanted some sleep; he needed some because this place required wits and Fernando didn't have much of that to begin with.

"Help me get rid of it." She begged and Fernando eyed the Guard that were wandering down their aisle again. _"Don't make me have it."_

"It's alright, it's alright. Shush." Fernando tried to quiet her down because he had no doubt that the Guard were eavesdropping on their conversation. "What's your name?" He asked in an attempt to calm her down.

She was whimpering and snuffling and Fernando chucked all his eggs in the basket and went to sit on the bed beside the woman, allowing her to keep hold of his wrist. "Please, what's your name?"

Her eyes - pupils blown wide - searched his face with desperation but there was a small, uncertain; "Lorena."

"I'm Fernando." He told her and then manoeuvred their hands to interlink their fingers.

"Please, I don't want it."

"I know, I know." He glanced around a little helplessly but nobody looked prepared to come and offer backup. "I know you don't want it."

A choke escaped. "It makes me feel sick."

"Nausea?" Fernando asked. "You're suffering from nausea? Is that it?"

Lorena shook her head with surprising determination considering her state. "No," She heaved. "It makes me feel sick _everywhere."_

"Alright," Fernando said uncertainly and shuffled a little closer. He gave the Guard another wary glance, and then whispered; "Have they given you something?"

Lorena burst in to tears again and nodded. "I didn't want it." She gasped. "They gave it to me but I didn't want it."

"Is it a drug?" Fernando tried to push. "Medication? Are they experimenting something on you? Was it....the water? Did they give you the infected water? Or-"

 _"No, no, no, no, no."_ Lorena was weeping and Fernando tried to hush her again. But Lorena's body was beginning to seize up - at least, that's what Fernando thought was happening. Her movements became sharp and stiff as she struggled underneath the blankets.

"It's alright, it's alright, just calm down." Fernando was saying but the words were noncommittal to Lorena. She continued to writhe around and then, eventually, she'd escaped from underneath the duvet and was exposing her barely-clothed body.

And Fernando saw.

He saw a woman who was pregnant. Heavily pregnant. The skin of her stomach was stretched thin against the bulge and the veins were stark on her pale complexion.

"Oh," Was all he managed and he flicked his gaze back up to Lorena, who was watching him with pleading eyes. "You...you're pregnant?"

His comment elicited another sob. "Please, help me get rid of it!" She begged with the voice of someone who had been utterly broken. "I don't want it, I don't want it."

Fernando couldn't respond at first, shocked in to silence. It would be wrong to ask what had happened. Not just wrong; ridiculous. He knew exactly what had happened. "I'm sorry, I don't know what to do." He finally spluttered out. "I can't do anything."

_"Please, don't make me have it. I don't want it."_

"There's nothing I can do," Fernando tried to repeat but his own voice was cracking. "I'm so sorry, Lorena. I'm so sorry, but I can't do anything."

_"They wouldn't let me get rid of it. They're forcing me to have it. Please, I don't want it!"_

And this was too much because Fernando had just wanted sleep. He didn't want to be faced with the possibility that Lorena's pregnancy wasn't accidental and that Raul's hero-complex stretched far beyond simply saving people who were already alive but creating new life altogether. He didn't want to think about the possibility that she was simply a host and that this was her role; her part to play in Raul's mission to save humanity.

Lorena was screaming and wailing and it struck Fernando that she was completely traumatised. All he could do was watch as she went in to a total meltdown - her hand still locked with his - and eventually sobbed herself in to a sleep, her face still scrunched up with pain. And Fernando had no idea whether the slightest movement would wake her up so he sat motionless on the bed for the rest of the night, keeping his hand exactly where it was.

Raul came to fetch him as a dim light began filtering through the marquee. The other thirty or so inhabitants of the tents scrambled out of their beds as Raul swept down the aisles and each and every one appeared relieved when he passed them without a second glance. Fernando watched him approach warily but kept his own seat on the bed.

"Good morning, Fernando."

"Hmm."

"Well rested?"

"No."

Raul's gaze slithered over the sleeping form of Lorena. "Did she bother you?"

"No."

"That's good." Raul motioned with his fingers. "Up. Your payment starts today."

Fernando finally disentangled his fingers from Lorena's and was relieved when she didn't wake. "Where are we going?"

Raul signalled for him to follow him out of the marquee and Fernando kept on his heels, ignoring the curious and suspicious stares from those around them. "Where are we going?" Fernando repeated.

As soon as they'd exited the marquee, Raul clamped down on both his wrists and crooked them behind his back. "Precautions must been taken." He apologised. Fernando felt the familiar, coarse rope stretched over his skin and he winced.

"Precautions-?" He began to challenge, ready to tell Raul that if he'd read his journal then he must know that Fernando was hardly going to cause much damage, but a rag was fastened around his mouth and he was gagged, too. He tried to splutter out a stream of curses but his words were muffled and went unheard.

"We had a long, hard think about what you could do for us, Fernando." Raul started to say with a hand on his back, guiding Fernando in the correct direction. "I have to admit, I was excited at first when I read that your friend - Xabi, was it? - was a nurse. We have a lot of casualties here and I thought your friend might have taught you a few, useful techniques. I learned pretty quickly that this wasn't the case. He didn't seem to teach you anything."

Fernando was pushed through one of the buildings that sat adjacent to the Plaza Mayor. Dust tickled his nostrils as Raul sent him up a flight of stairs and down a corridor.

"You don't have anything significant or special to offer us. We really tried, Fernando; to think of something. But, in the end, there's only one purpose for you." Fernando was guided through a door at the far end of the corridor.

There was nothing in the room except a stained mattress, wood kindling and a cracked basin. Fernando's eyes immediately went over to the basin, where Sergio was shackled.

Sergio glanced up as Fernando and Raul entered the room, a shallow cut stretching from one corner of his mouth to the edge of his jaw. "What's going on?" He asked and Fernando was pushed down to sit on the mattress.

"Sergio was particularly difficult for us last night." Raul continued speaking to Fernando. "When he cooperates, he's an asset - an asset we desperately need. The kind of person our new world needs. We just need to secure that cooperation."

"What's going on?" Sergio bit out again, straining slightly against the shackles. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"That's just the problem, Sergio." Raul turned to him finally. "You don't understand how serious we are. This is no joke. I would've thought you'd remember from your girl but, I suppose, you never saw that, did you? You only heard it. Sometimes, seeing is believing." He threw a smirk towards Fernando at his own quotation from his journal.

Raul snapped his fingers and someone else entered the room. Fernando didn't recognise him. It appeared that Sergio didn't either; but he was looking between Raul and the new man with realisation dawning on his face.

"This is just a flavour, Sergio." Raul began to finish and he headed towards the door. "Of what will happen every time you threaten our mission to preserve the human race. You can make a mockery of our heroism but it's not you that will pay the consequences; it's him."

And he left the room; followed by the unmistakeable sound of a lock clicking echoed through the room.

There was silence for several beats and Fernando held his breath. The floodgates opened when the man made a move to take off his coat and Sergio began to scream.

_"Don't you fucking touch him, I swear to God, you have no idea what I'll do to you if you lay one finger on him, I'll fucking kill you, don't you dare go near him!"_

It was all water under the boat though as the screams went straight over the man's head and he continued undressing. It was like Fernando had only just figured out the punchline to a belated joke and he backed up against the wall, scrabbling around for something, anything, that he could use to break his bindings.

But there was nothing. This wasn't some crime drama where a convenient nail was poking out of the floorboard; Raul knew exactly what he was doing because this is what he'd been doing the whole time. He'd done it with Daniela, and he'd done it with Lorena and now, he was going to do it with him. And he was going to make Sergio watch.

And all Fernando could do was press his back harder and harder against the wall and squeeze his eyes tighter and tighter and gulp down breaths of air faster and faster; as the man's shadow passed over him and Sergio's screams rang in his ear and the first, cold hand touched him.


	25. 25/11/2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much still to write, so little of November left. (Whoops, it's December now!)
> 
> I've been down with 'the fam' again, as I was earlier last month and it is nothing serious at all, it just made it difficult for me to find time to write. But I'm back now, it's alright. Let's do this!

_Dong. Dong. Dong._

The sound of an alarm splintered through the room; Sergio's screams subsided and the stranger froze, his fingertips ghosting over the waistband of Fernando's jeans.

_Dong. Dong. Dong._

There was a soft curse and Fernando felt a significant weight leave the mattress. He dared opening one eye to see the stranger hastily dragging his clothes back on. It felt like several mountains had been removed from Fernando's chest; a small, choked breath of relief escaped, as did a couple of tears.

_Dong. Dong. Dong._

He wanted to ask what was happening but the gag was still tight around his mouth and drawing as little attention to himself as possible seemed the safer option. He wanted to curl up in to a ball and disappear lest Raul came back and told the stranger to stay.

But the stranger was throwing the door open - the lock being ripped off entirely - and sprinting off down the corridor until he disappeared from sight. The door had been left gaping open.

_Dong. Dong. Dong._

Fernando could hear the shouts of others echoing down the corridors but there were no footsteps approaching the room or figures moving towards them down the corridor. Fernando acted on pure instinct and scrambled from the bed; he shoved his body against the door to shoulder it shut and slid down against it when his legs couldn't hold him up. He hadn't noticed he was shaking so badly.

A round of gunshot fire sounded from outside and Fernando eyed up the window. As best he could, he dragged himself from the ground and stumbled over to the window. His balance was precarious with his hands bound behind his back and his knees trembling but he leant against the wall, using his cheek to rub off the dust and condensation that smeared the glass. He peered through.

_Dong. Dong. Dong._

Troops of armed men and women were jogging over to the West side of the Plaza Mayor; smoke was rising in thick clouds. The civilians were being hastily directed in to the communal marquees - all weighed down with bundles of blankets and boxes - and two or three of Raul's men were standing guard outside the tents. Glancing back towards the West, Fernando saw the lopsided shadow of Creakers begin to emerge from the smoke. Their bodies toppled like rag dolls after rounds of bullets punctured them.

"Fernando," Sergio's voice broke through the room, thick with.... _something_. "What's happening?"

Fernando looked around for something to remove his gag with and settled for scraping against the window pane, pushing the gag down inch by inch. It took almost three minutes, but eventually he'd managed to shove the gag down - and rubbed his cheek raw - and it slipped down to around his neck.

"The square has been breached." Fernando said as soon as his mouth was free. "Over on the West."

"Creakers?"

"Yeah." He glanced back out the window and at the crumbling walls. "That wall has been taken down."

Sergio was struggling with his binding. "Manually?"

"I think so." Fernando looked towards him and then flexed his own hands. "How do we get out?"

"I don't know." Sergio conceded and his body went slack, before he glanced up at Fernando. "I'm so fucking sorry, Fer. I'm so sorry! I didn't know Raul would do that, I thought he needed you, I'm so sorry-"

"We don't have time for this." Fernando cut across him, watching as the first line of troops became overwhelmed by the mass of Creakers and they began to retreat. "Save it for when we survive this, alright?"

Sergio went quiet.

"Okay. Do you think Raul is being attacked?" Fernando asked.

"By other people?"

"Maybe. Someone took that wall down." He moved away from the window and did another visual sweep of the room. It really was bare - the mattress, the basin and the window. Hardly the equipment required for an escape mission.

He blew some air out of the corner of his mouth in contemplation. "We could push the mattress against the door. It would buy us some time to think."

"It won't be heavy enough."

"Well, there's nothing else." Fernando countered and started attempting to flip mattress on it's side with just his feet and shoulders. It required a lot of ridiculous manoeuvring and Fernando could feel - rather than see - Sergio getting agitated and impatient.

"We should focus on unbinding our hands." He said.

"Right," Fernando huffed, as he shoved at the mattress with his shoulder. "After I've done this."

"We don't have time, Fer."

"This will give us some." Once the mattress was upright, Fernando used his elbows to lower it against the door. He then gave tiny kicks to the mattress, straightening it up against the door with each centimetre; it eventually sat adjacent to the door, resting heavily against it.

He let out a relieved sigh. "There we go. _Now_ we can focus on our hands." Then he stopped. "What happened to the alarm?"

As soon as the words had left his mouth, the sound of a rusty hinge reached his ears. Both Sergio and he fell silent, glancing towards the door. The door wasn't being budged or moved - but the sound was still echoing. It sounded distant; but getting closer.

"They've got in to the building." Fernando whispered and then looked towards Sergio. "We need to untie you from that basin."

"You don't say." Sergio hissed back and gave his bound hands a shake for emphasis.

"It's fine, it's fine, don't panic." Fernando placated, before laughing a little to himself. "Hey, d'you hear that? _I_ am telling _you_ not to panic. Does this mean I'm the cool and composed one now and you're the neurotic-"

"For the love of God-"

There was a crash against the door and both of them tailed off. Erratic breathing drifted through the heavy wood of the door, followed by further spine-tingling groans and creaks; more than one.

Another crash; and the door was flung open, the mattress sliding pathetically to the floor. Three Creakers stumbled in to the room, disorientated but undeniably dangerous. Fernando stared in the shock.

"Told you." Sergio muttered but there was a waver to his voice. He began to struggle desperately against his restraints and the motion sent both Fernando and the Creakers in to action.

Two of the Creakers went straight for Fernando and he was backing up against the wall to give himself time to think, time to come up with some genius, heroism that would save the day.

 _Yeah, right._ Fernando wasn't a hero or an action-man and he knew it - he was just a survivor. And he was going to damn well survive.

He brought his bound hands up and over his head and wrapped it straight around the first Creakers neck. The coarse rope dug in to their pale, flaky skin with ease and he used every muscle in his body to tighten the rope further and further. The milky eyes began to pop out of the skull and a shrill squeal rang in his ears; the rope snapped straight through the neck and Fernando had decapitated the Creaker completely. Stagnant blood splattered across his face.

There was no time to celebrate as the second Creaker descended upon him just as fast and Fernando resorted to using the only available resources - elbowing the window until it smashed and puncturing the Creakers head on a shard of jagged glass. The Creakers sharp fingers scrambled around feebly to clutch him and then stilled.

He used the back of his bound hands to wipe the blood and sweat from his eyes and then immediately sought out Sergio; who was still struggling against the binding on his wrists and keeping the third Creaker at bay with both of his feet, planted firmly against the Creaker's chest.

Fernando was on it straight away; he dragged at thin wisps on hair that sprouted from the Creaker's head, a little grossed out when it simply ripped off in matted clumps. He went for the decapitation method instead and strangled the Creaker from behind, pushing and pushing until the head was off and abandoned on the floor.

"Hey, Sergio." He waved around his tied hands. "No weapons."

Sergio looked far from amused, despite the fact that Fernando had been giving him an indirect compliment. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

"Yeah, I know." Fernando went back to window and tried to dislodge the shards of glass. When that proved to be fruitless, he turned around and started rubbing the rope up against the broken glass. It slipped every now and then, leaving small slits against his wrists and hands, but the rope fell away after less than a minute. Fernando cradled his wrists carefully, bruises and cuts and all.

"Fer!" Sergio sent a warning and Fernando glanced up in time to see another five Creakers pushing their way through the ajar door.

_Oh, fuck._

"I thought Raul was meant to running some sort of military operation in this place?" Fernando grumbled and disguising the genuine fear in his voice. There was _no_ chance he could take on five Creakers on his own; even with liberated hands.

He started trying to formulate some super assassination scheme in his head - take out the two on the right first, then the left, then the centre - when a round of bullets smattered in to the room. At first, Fernando thought the bullets were for him and he hit the deck, crawling over the Sergio and pushing back against the porcelain basin.

His left hand sought out Sergio's bound ones as the Creakers crumpled one by one, their bodies littered with small holes as they fell. And Fernando was certain, certain that this was Raul back to imprison Sergio or the stranger back to finish where he'd left off and they'd missed their chance to leave, they'd missed their shot to escape Raul's grasp forever.

That was, until the figure stepped forward in to the room, carefully avoiding the twitching bodies.

And Fernando wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. In the end, he did both.

"Xabi?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ......I couldn't traumatise Fernando even more! (For now).


	26. 26/11/2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, where has the time gone?

"Fuck, am I glad to see you."

Fernando allowed Xabi to help him with up with one hand and then pulled the older man in to a tight hug. "You're an idiot for coming here, though."

"You're an idiot for getting captured in the first place." Xabi said. "Who's bright idea was it to blast out music on full volume? I think Creakers up in Barcelona would've heard you."

Fernando smiled against his neck and just held him closer. "Yeah, we're all idiots."

"Especially you."

"Especially me." He released Xabi. "How did you find us?"

"I followed you." Xabi answered and Fernando eyed the revolver in his hand. Xabi caught him looking. "Oh, I snuck in to their armoury first. Stole another 4 incher too." He patted his back pocket. "I took down their West defences - lead all the Creakers here by using that stereo, they followed the sound and then did the job for me, really. I just needed a distraction so that I could get in." He gave a small glance out the window. "Seemed to work like a charm."

"Xabi."

"Yeah?"

"You're amazing."

Xabi gave his hair a ruffle, only slightly perturbed by the blood in it. "I love you too, Fernando."

"This is a beautiful moment, but can someone untie me?" Sergio piped up.

Fernando conceded and crouched down, pulling at the knot that bound Sergio's wrists together. Xabi shrugged off the rucksack he'd been carrying; opening it, he brought out a smaller, more compact bag. "This is yours, Sergio."

He pushed the smaller bag towards Sergio, who picked it up as soon as Fernando had released his hands.

"It was in the armoury tent; over a hundred bags had been stored in there. I'm guessing that you've been here before?" Xabi queried.

"Yeah." Sergio just said and ran his thumb over the label that had _'SERGIO'_ scrawled across it. He opened it up but didn't bring anything out, just rifled around inside it. "Uh, thank you." He directed towards Xabi, who just gave a conceding nod.

"What's in there?" Fernando asked.

"Nothing useful." Sergio fastened the bag back up and slung it over his shoulder. "Alright, let's go."

Both Sergio and Fernando made to move but Xabi held up a hand. "I've got a better idea." He said. "Let's stay here."

 _"Here!?"_ Fernando asked, incredulous.

"Not this exact room. In the camp. In the Plaza Mayor." At the look that both Sergio and Fernando gave him, he tried to elaborate; "Think about it. They'd never expect us to stay in the camp. They'll think we've fled."

"Let's take it to a democratic vote. All those who think Xabi's gone insane, raise your hands." Fernando said.

Xabi looked exasperated. "Not forever. Or even a long time. Just enough time to gather our bearings, stock up on food and weapons and formulate a _real_ plan. We'll hide out somewhere for a night or two. Believe me, I've spent several days out there on my own - we can't survive on a whim."

Fernando dragged a hand down his face. "You _so_ better be right about this."

"Come on," Xabi ushered and lead the way from the room. Sergio groaned but followed and Fernando brought up the rear; they kept in a single file all down the corridors and arrived back at the dusty - and, thankfully empty - lobby that Raul had pushed him through earlier.

Fernando began to make his way towards the door but Xabi clutched his arm. "Believe me, it's chaos out there. We'll be killed."

"Then where do you suggest we go?"

"Find another room in here. This building."

"Are you serious-?"

Xabi shushed him and walked around the abandoned lobby. Fernando and Sergio followed and Xabi directed them to a set of stairs. "I searched the whole building to find you," Xabi began. "A lot of the rooms on the upper levels are deserted. Nobody has been in them. Let's pick one."

"They'll find us!" Fernando hissed.

"Fernando, trust me. If we weren't killed out there, we'd be spotted in a second. It's crawling with people."

Fernando huffed. "Fine, fine, I'll stop arguing. Just lead us."

Xabi sent both Sergio and himself up the stairs before him, keeping an eye out for any unexpected or unwanted visitors. Once they'd reached the first floor, Xabi lead them up another flight of stairs, to the second floor.

He hadn't lied - this part of the building appeared untouched by any human since the infection began. A thick layer of dust coated every wall and carpet and oil painting. They wandered down to the far end of the corridor and Xabi had Sergio barge the door open as he kept his gun trained on the staircase at the opposite end. Once the door was heaved open, they all piled in and Xabi slammed it shut behind them.

The room was small and sparse - one bed with unused sheets, a dresser, a television and another door that presumably led to the bathroom. There was a window with the curtains drawn over it on the opposite end.

"Was this a hotel?" Fernando asked; the Plaza Mayor had been going under huge renovations when he'd left Madrid. For all he knew, the buildings that flanked the square had been transformed for tourism.

"Maybe it was going to be." Xabi responded, frowning at the lock on the door. Sergio had broken it when he'd cracked the door open and it hung limply from the wood. "We need something to block the door.

He began to drag the dresser over and Sergio went over to help. Fernando winced at the scraping sound it created, hoping that the sound of gunfire and shouts would cover any bustling that occurred up here. He went and investigated the bathroom; shower, sink and toilet.

 _Huh._ An actual shower. Not that it would work. Nor would the sink. He attempted to flush the toilet, unsurprised when a choked, gurgling sound escaped but nothing occurred.

When he popped his head back out, Sergio and Xabi were positioning the dresser flush against the door.

"How will we scavenge for food and weapons?" He queried, plopping down on the edge of the bed.

"We'll go on a couple of raids. Not right now. I've got some food with me." Xabi patted his bag, dumping it near the television. He glanced at it. "Haven't seen one of these in a while. D'you think it'll still work?"

"Doubt it. The electricity won't be on."

Sergio deposited his bag down on the bedside table. "What are we supposed to do, then?"

"Get some sleep. One or two of us should head out tonight - if things have calmed down - and steal some food. And don't go near the window." Xabi gestured for Sergio to back off from the curtains.

"I vouch for sleep." Fernando gave a small yawn; it wasn't as if he'd gotten any the night before. His thoughts turned to Lorena and he felt sick. "D'you think the Creakers will hurt the civilians?"

"Casualties might happen, Fernando." Xabi said but offered him a sad smile. "My priority had to be making sure you and Sergio were safe."

Fernando heaved himself over on to the far side of the bed and rolled over on to his stomach. Sunlight streamed through the crack in the curtains and the spray of gunfire echoed through the window with ease. But Fernando hadn't slept in a bed since the treehouse had been destroyed - discounting that awful night in the communal marquee - and the pillow beneath his head and the soft sheets against his skin was enough for him to fall in to a deep - albeit, restless - slumber.

*

It was dusk when he roused.

At least, he assumed it was. The light filtering through the curtains was dimmer, casting a soft glow over the room, but as soon as he'd reached out to check, Xabi's voice had rung out.

_"Don't go near the window, Fernando."_

He sighed and pricked his ears for the sound of trouble occurring down in the Plaza. It was much quieter than before; no screams or cries or rounds of bullets. It was almost silent.

He rolled back over on the bed to ask Xabi when his stomach lurched as he almost rolled on top of Sergio; who was sleeping on the bed next to him, spread out in such a way that Fernando realised he'd been budged right to the very edge. Not that he was surprised - Sergio taking up as much bed space as possible had been one of his more frustrating habits. It was as if he was giving a disguised ultimatum for anyone who slept with him; _you better snuggle up with me or I'm pushing you out altogether._

Fernando eased himself over Sergio as carefully as he could in a bid to let the other man sleep undisturbed and tiptoed over to Xabi, who was sat down on the floor near the door. He'd lifted the television down from the shelf and was messing around with the wires.

"Has the fighting stopped?" Fernando whispered.

Xabi gave a distracted nod, fiddling with one yellow wire and one black cable. "About three hours ago. They dealt with the Creaker infestation."

"Is that...good?"

"They were just a distraction." Xabi responded, scowling at the wires. "Do you know how to pick up radio signals on a television?"

Fernando shook his head a little dumbly and then indicated the bed. "You should get some sleep. I'll keep watch."

Xabi offered a small smile. "Are you sure there's space for me?"

They both looked towards Sergio, who had seemingly claimed the few inches of space on the bed that Fernando had vacated. Fernando snorted. "Yeah, he does that. If he tries to cuddle you, just push him off."

Xabi didn't respond at first and pushed the wires back inside the television's plastic casing, before sighing. "You never told me."

"Told me what?"

"How you knew him."

Fernando shrugged. "I said it didn't matter."

"Humour me." Xabi pushed and Fernando felt cornered.

"There isn't much to tell." He just said. "We used to date. That's all."

It was Xabi's turn to snort. "I'd figured that much out myself."

"Then why are you asking?"

"Because it's more than that." Xabi continued. "I met you after the infection, Fernando. I don't know what you were like before; all I can judge is how you were then to how you are now. And believe me, there's a difference. You've changed - you've got better since he came."

"That's not what's happened." Fernando tried to explain. "We had a....bad breakup. You met me at a low point in my life. Of course I've got better as time has passed."

"You've improved more in three months than you had in almost a year. That's no coincidence."

Fernando sent him a glare. "Xabi."

"Yes?"

"Go to bed."

Xabi chuckled. "Alright, _dad."_ He picked himself up off the floor, giving Fernando's cheek a quick pat as he did so. "Wake me up if there's another apocalypse."

"Will do," Fernando said, sniggering as Xabi attempted to roll Sergio over on to one side of the bed. Sergio gave a small whine but seemed to oblige, his arm and leg dangling over the other side of the bed as he tried to stretch them out.

 _What a kook,_ he thought to himself and extended his legs out in front of him, leaning against the wall. Xabi's soft snores didn't take long to fill the silence in the room and Fernando found that he absolutely nothing to do. He had no journal to write in; no food to prep; not even scenery to watch - Xabi would throttle him if he went near that bloody window.

As the minutes passed, his eyes began to wander over to Sergio's bag.

_No._

Fernando was better than that. Sergio's bag was private.

He counted each individual wire that Xabi had carelessly shoved back inside the television. Then he counted the dots on the spotted wallpaper. Then the creases on the floorboards.

_But, Sergio had looked through his journal without permission? This wasn't any different, was it?_

_No, no, no, no, no._ _No._

Fernando took another look at the bag.

_Oh, fuck it._

He reached up and tugged the bag down from the bedside table. It was light in weight. Fernando peeled back the covering and began pulling out the contents.

Some spare bandages; an energy bar; some hair bobbles and hair clips - Daniela's, possibly - and a hairbrush; an uncharged mobile phone; and a thick, brown envelope. Fernando stuffed the other items back inside the bag, and returned it back to the bedside table. He kept the envelope on his lap.

He tipped the envelope upside down and a bundle of photographs spilled out on to the floor, all bound together by an elastic band.

Fernando should have known; Sergio's photographs were his babies - there was no way he would have abandoned them. Smiling to himself, Fernando began to rifle through the photographs that he'd saved.

Some were his most loved commissions. The two girls in Uganda going to school for the first time. The young offenders playing basketball during their rehabilitation programme. The man who climbed Kilimanjaro on prosthetic legs. Always people; it was one of the first things Sergio ever told Fernando. He never photographed anything except people.

The others were his private collection, largely of his own family. His parents and his siblings and Daniela.

And then there was him. He was nonplussed, at first; he'd never given Sergio much opportunity to photograph him. Sergio had tried, on many an occasion, but he'd always blush and fluster and hide his face until Sergio put the camera down. All the photos had been taken under his own ignorance.

One was of him asleep and sprawled across the couch in Sergio's apartment - curled around a cushion and mouth slightly ajar; another was of him doodling his and Sergio's name in the snow, wrapped up in a thick coat and hat; and another was him sat on the beach at night in Moldova, where they'd gone on a weekend break.

It took him a long time to realise that it didn't hurt; that there was no raw pain gnawing at his stomach or iron first clenching around his chest.

The photographs were simply evidence of a special time in his life - no wreckage of a breakup, no deep-rooted betrayal, no naming and blaming and hating. Just beautiful memories.

Whether they were over or not, his relationship with Sergio was _the past._

And that was something he'd been unable to understand until this point.

He wrapped the photographs back up and slipped them back inside the bag. His shoulders felt a lot lighter than they had done in a long time and when he settled back against the wall, he was sure there was a small smile playing across his face.


	27. 27/11/2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So..........
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ..............hello again.

Fernando allowed night to fall before he decided to wake Sergio up.

He'd dithered between him and Xabi for several minutes before reasoning that the latter needed more rest and Sergio might kick up a fuss if he picked Xabi over him again. At least, that's what he'd tell Sergio if asked.

Waking Sergio up was no mean feat and Fernando took to ungraciously yanking at his arm - eventually extracting a groan from Sergio.

"Are we being attacked?" He asked in a sleep-doused voice.

"No."

Sergio curled his fingers around Fernando's wrist and began to drag him in to the bed. "Are you here to snuggle?"

_"No."_

"Then leave me in peace, sex kitten." He smirked and rolled over, trying to bury his face in the pillow before giving a start when he realised that Xabi occupied half of it.

"Come on, Sergio." Fernando ripped the duvet off him. "We need to raid some supplies."

Sergio cracked open an eyelid and peered up at Fernando. "We?"

"Yes. You and me." He said, and then added; "If you want."

A second or two passed, and then Sergio suddenly leapt up from the bed with a grin. "Well, you should've said!" He began to drag on his coat and toe on his shoes. "Where're we raiding then?"

"I don't know, just around the camp. There must be a canteen or a kitchen somewhere." Fernando answered. "And keep quiet, unless you want Xabi to wake up."

Sergio went silent in an instant.

They hauled the dresser away from the door and Fernando used a pin from the first-aid kit to scratch a small message in to the wallpaper for Xabi; _Hi ho, it's off to raid we go._ He smiled at his own lame attempt at a joke and stuffed the torch in his back pocket.

The corridor was untouched from earlier in the day, as was the staircase. Not a speck of dust had been disturbed. The pair of them crept back down towards the reception and Fernando poked his head around the frame to scope out the room.

Just as they'd left it. Empty.

"All clear."

Sergio grabbed his arm just before he could wander out. "It's silent."

Fernando pricked his ears and dropped his voice lower on instinct. "The fighting has finished. They contained the Creakers."

"But it's silent. There should be a huge mess to clean up. People on red-alert; why is nobody around?"

"Maybe they have protocols for this kind of thing?"

Sergio frowned slightly. "Maybe."

They managed to make their way across the reception - although Sergio's caution slowed the whole process down - and Fernando pressed his face against the glass of the wide-set, double doors.

All that waited outside was thick darkness. The kind that was caused by dense clouds and smog. No people. No Creakers. No Raul.

"Looks safe." Fernando said, but the uncertainty in his voice wasn't hidden.

"I wish we could seem them."

"Why?"

"Because then we'd know how to avoid them." Sergio pressed his face against the glass next to him. "Don't you get the feeling that they're hiding?"

Fernando glanced at him. "From the Creakers?"

"From us."

"They wouldn't be scared of us." Fernando said. "A photographer, a nurse and a school teacher? Frightening." He mused for a moment. "I bet we'd make a good sitcom though."

"I'd be the lead."

"You wish."

A small thud from behind almost sent Fernando sprawling through the doors, until a rat came scuttling out from underneath the reception desk and weaved itself in to a small pile of debris that had gathered in the corner.

"Let's go through a different entrance." Sergio said eventually, giving the outside another quick glance. Fernando also had another sweep and decided not to argue. It wasn't as if he was particularly keen on stumbling around the eerily deserted square himself.

They crossed the reception and Sergio led them down an adjacent corridor, searching for a fire exit. Fernando obliged and followed, occasionally throwing a glance over his shoulder and back towards the retreating reception. He could almost kid himself that the shadows were creeping after them.

"So, I had a look through your bag." He decided to mention, partially as a distraction against the ever deepening silence.

"Yeah?" Sergio said, and then cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was a poor attempt of Fernando's. " _How dare you invade my privacy in that way! You had no right! I'm so appalled that I'm going to wander off and sulk in a pond."_

"I was curious." Fernando grumbled, though it was hardly a justification. But Sergio just smirked and Fernando knew he'd been let off the hook. "And I saw the photos."

"Hmm?"

"I think it's good. That you saved them." He said, as Sergio picked out a door at the end of the corridor. "Raul told me that details keep us civilised, and he was right. Even if he doesn't follow that line of thought himself. He's obsessed with the 'big picture', you know? He thinks that humanity can only be saved by stripping it down to the bone. But, what's the point? If there isn't anything to save at the end? The small details are all we have left and - your photos are a nice detail."

Sergio didn't respond for a long time and concentrated on picking the lock of the door. When a resounding click signalled the door had been opened, he straightened back up and sighed. "I'm sorry about your journal, Fer."

"Oh." Fernando hadn't even been thinking about his journal. There'd been a time when he'd depended on it; when he'd needed it like he'd needed his therapist. There was no need crawling underneath his skin now. No agitation or desperation. "That's...alright. It wasn't that special, in the end."

"I think it was."

"Well, you should know. You read it."

"You _just_ admitted to going through my personal possessions."

"I know, I know." Fernando exasperated but kept his voice a low hush. "I just meant that....I'm glad you kept the photos. That's all."

Sergio offered him a sly smile. "Especially the ones of you?"

"Oh, for God's sake, let's just raid some food."

Sergio snickered as Fernando pushed him aside and slid the door open a few notches. Cold air began to filter in from the outside.

The door lead out on to the small, intertwining backstreets that spider-webbed the Plaza Mayor. The darkness seemed even thicker in the confines of the high-rising walls that stretched along the streets. It was inescapable.

With a cautious foot, Fernando slipped through the door and out on to the street, half expecting an ambush. When none came, he gestured for Sergio to follow.

"I don't like this. There's nowhere to run." Sergio muttered.

"It's this or the square." Fernando countered and pointed down the street. "We'll loop back round to the Plaza Mayor. Find the canteen. Raul mentioned that the tents were colour-coded."

"We won't be able to see colours in this darkness." Sergio gave a small sniff and glanced up towards the sky. "Can you smell that?"

Fernando took a hesitant sniff himself. "Smell what?"

"I don't know. Something....dark." Another sniff. "Sharp." He shrugged it off uneasily and began making his way down the street. His feet were quick and Fernando struggled to keep pace with him.

"Shouldn't we be going slower?" He asked, his shoulders brushing against the sloping walls along the street. "Keep a look out."

Sergio shook his head. "The less time we spend exposed, the better. Let's make this raid a quick one."

Fernando's foot hit a shard of broken bottle and sent it spinning down the street. The resulting clang made him wince.

They travelled down the length of the street until an opening to the Plaza Mayor popped in to sight. The silhouettes of the tents loomed in front of them, like sharp-tipped mountains. Fernando wandered straight up to the opening and scanned the flags that decorated the tents.

"Green." He said. "Raul said that green meant food."

He sought out the smallest alteration in colour between the flags. With his eyes beginning to ache with straining against the darkness, he was certain he could pick out the colour green, on a tent that sat to the far left.

"I think that's our best bet." He pointed out the suspect tent to Sergio.

"Any signs of life?"

"No." The air of abandonment was setting deep in the pit of his stomach. "Nothing."

Maybe they'd all left? Maybe the damage to the wall couldn't be repaired? Maybe Creakers were roaming around the square, uninhibited and unseen?

But there was no tell-tale groaning of limbs or weathered bones - just the familiar silence.

Fernando took Sergio's hand and lead them both out in to the Plaza Mayor. They stuck close to the edges, keeping themselves sheltered and hidden underneath the shadows of the buildings, although there wasn't a soul in sight to see them. They could've cartwheeled across the court and it wouldn't have attracted any attention. Fernando crept them around towards the tent within five minutes, keeping a firm grip on Sergio's fingers and locking them together. Getting separated in such impenetrable darkness was almost a worse fate than crossing paths with Raul.

Almost.

Once they'd reached the tent, Fernando pressed his ear against the rough fabric and tried to pick up the smallest of sounds that suggested someone was waiting inside.

Still silence.

Sergio brought out a small blade that had been tucked in his sleeve and went to work carving an opening for them. Fernando's gaze kept wandering over his shoulder and out towards the expanse of the Plaza Mayor. Far, far too quiet.

He was pushed head-first through the opening before he could overanalyse anything too much and stumbled in to the tent.

"No need for man-handling." He grumbled as soon as Sergio joined him and flicked the torch on, keeping the light firmly directed on the floor.

The food tent was far smaller than the communal one that Fernando had spent a lousy, restless night in; bags of flour and sugar and rice had been lumped together in a bundle in the furthest corner, while cans of tinned fruit and vegetables and preservatives were stacked all along the sides of the tent, like a makeshift fence. There were crates of snack bars and packaged nuts and crisps.

Fernando picked out a selection of cooler bags and unzipped one, revealing chilled bottles of water - clean as anything - and bottles of wine.

"They must've raided half the city for all this." He commented, scanning the entirety of the tent. "They wouldn't just abandon it all. They must still be here - in the square."

"Then let's grab as much as we can and high-tail it out of here." Sergio emptied out a couple of cooler bags and threw them towards Fernando. "Fill them up."

Fernando went to work immediately; the sacks of flour and sugar were unpackable and unnecessary so he stuck to the cans and packets.

Cans of soup? In.

Tinned peaches? In.

Pickled onions? In.

Bottle of _Pinot Grigio?_ Why the hell not?

He crammed packets in to the small spaces left between the cans and tins, making sure to add a dozen _Naked_ bars - Xabi's shameless obsession - and a few jars of jam.

He caught Sergio watching him try to squeeze the jam jars in to the bag without cracking the glass and waited for him to inevitably help. When no help came, he made an exaggerated deal of struggling to squash all the contents in the bag and zip it up, until conceding and asking; "Wanna give me a hand?"

Sergio walked over wordlessly and crouched down next to him, holding the two flaps of the bag together and Fernando zipped.

"Do you ever think about the possibility that we might not make it?"

The question caught Fernando by surprise and his fingers slipped across the teeth of the zipper. "That's not helpful."

"I'm just asking."

"Then, no." He resumed zipping up the cooler bag and sat back against the palm of his hands. "I don't."

Sergio joined him on the floor. "Do you think we will make it?"

"Since when was I the reassuring one?" Fernando tried to joke, but it was neither the time nor place and no laughter was shared. "I don't know." He went for honesty instead of humour.

"This will never stop, will it?" Sergio's voice was quiet and settling low in Fernando's stomach. "Even if we get out of here, out of Madrid - we'll never stop running. We'll never stop being on the brink of death."

Fernando shrugged uneasily, unsure _why_ Sergio thought this was the best time to start posing such daunting, thought-provoking questions.

"Do  _you_ think we'll make it?"

Sergio turned to look at him directly and the lock of their gazes was like two jigsaw pieces slotting together; two worn-out, broken jigsaw pieces that had been jammed in to the wrong place in the picture for far too long. And - in that moment - Fernando knew. He just _knew._ They _would_ always be running. And hiding and fighting and surviving. They'd never be calm or settled or safe; this would be their life, _his_ life - forever.

But he'd take it all. If he had Xabi and - _goddamn_ \- if he had Sergio, he'd take it all. He'd take a life of uncertainty and death with them over an ordinary one without. No further questions needed. He didn't want normality if it wasn't listening to Xabi babble on about science and medicine. He didn't want safety if it wasn't found in Sergio's arms.

"I don't know." Sergio finally said, in a mirror of his own words. But Fernando no longer cared about ridiculous, unanswerable questions.

"We could die in the next week. Or day. Or minute." He breathed, and then took the initiative - fisting the collar of Sergio's shirt and pulling him in so that there were mere inches between them. "These could be our last seconds on Earth, and we'd have no idea."

Sergio's gaze flickered down to Fernando's lips and then back to his eyes. He licked his own. "Yeah."

"Feel like making them worth our while?"

Fernando had no idea whether he and Sergio were ever going to attempt another relationship but, for the first time, it didn't matter. He didn't care that Sergio had broken up with him or that they weren't _technically over_ or that both he and Sergio would need several pairs of hands to be able to count all of their flaws on. None of it could possibly matter when Fernando had no idea whether they'd even both be alive within the next hour; not when Sergio was here, right now, in this moment, a beautiful ray of light in an impossibly dark world.

"What do you have in mind, Fernando?" Was the response, whispered against his neck.

And the use of his name - no stupid or teasing pseudonym - was enough to convince Fernando that - actually - he was pretty damn delighted that he'd been stupid enough to want a bury a faux Creaker body by the lake all that time ago, and he was pretty damn delighted that Daniela had been such a troublemaker at school. He was pretty damn delighted that Sergio had waltzed in to his life and that he was now here to stay. For good.

"Depends. How much time do we have?" He said, as he started pressing Sergio's body down with his own, flattening them both against the hard floor.

Sergio slid both hands up in to his hair with warm fingers and dragged his face down so that he could press his lips against every inch of Fernando's skin that he could reach; nose, cheek, ear, lips. "We should've left about ten minutes ago."

"That so?" Fernando grinned as he adjusted their bodies so that they slotted together just right, in a way that only their two bodies could slot. "Guess we should cut straight to the chase then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never meant for this to be left for so long. It was one of those times where you have one thing on, and then another thing, and then another thing and before you know it, it's been a couple of months. The final few chapters are all planned out so I'll try to get this finished within the week. 
> 
> (Also, I know it seems bizarre to still be dating the chapters when it's not the correct date, but.....consistency!)


	28. 28/11/2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovely readers!
> 
> I know, I know....flattery will get me nowhere. I've been MIA, I know I have. Confession time: I've never completed a story, not once. My laptop is full of half-written, unedited drafts that I've never had the motivation to finish. And I want to break out of that cycle. So, I promise - PROMISE - that this will be completed. I owe it to myself, as much as to all of you.)
> 
> I had this chapter sitting around for ages and TOTALLY meant to edit it but never found the time, kept forgetting, excuses, excuses, so I'm just going to post it. It's pretty long and maybe a little chucked together in parts, so I'm sorry in advance! I knew if I waited for myself to edit it, I'd never get it posted.
> 
> So, voila!
> 
> (Also, just a reminder that I do have 'graphic depictions of violence' as an archive warning.)

"This one is Enrique."

"Hmm."

"And this one is Pablo."

"Hmm."

"This one looks like a Horatio."

"Will you stop naming my freckles?"

Sergio just grinned and shook his head, running his nose down the length of Fernando's stomach. "This small cluster," He laid a small kiss against a rogue splattering of freckles on the dip of Fernando's hipbone. "This would be the Sergio constellation. Definitely."

Fernando trailed his fingers through Sergio's hair in small, soft strokes. They were curled up on the floor of the food tent, using both their coats to cushion the ground beneath them. "Does that make it yours?"

"I don't know." Sergio travelled back upwards, leaving a damp path with his tongue; his eyes met Fernando's when their faces were level. "Is it mine?"

Sergio's question dangled in front of Fernando like bait on a hook. He sought out the other man's lips with his own, thoughts thick and condensed in his head; _yes, I suppose it is yours and yes, I don't want it to_ not _be yours, but this is all so fragile and all so new, and this world is so new too, I don't know where we fit in it and yes, I know that I want you with me in it, but I don't know how to_ have _you in it yet, because we can't be how we were before._

All he said was; "I guess."

Which was an expectedly unsatisfactory answer for Sergio, who snuck his way around to Fernando's ear and whispered against it; "Meaning?"

"I don't know." Fernando sighed. He cupped the back of Sergio's neck to keep him close. "Does it make any difference?"

"To?"

"This. Us."

"Us?"

"Alright, stop countering." Fernando poked his arm and sighed again; he used the leverage on Sergio's neck to pull him closer and keep himself snuggled against his side. "I just want to take it a day at a time; figure each thing out as it comes and not make the same mistakes again."

Sergio made a small, thoughtful noise that was neither acceptance nor rejection. He ran the back of his knuckles against the skin of Fernando's cheek, rough and worn and smeared with dirt, Sevillan eyes watching him carefully. It was a sweet gesture; the kind you didn't find much of in an apocalypse. "It's alright if we do." At Fernando's questioning glance, he added; "Make mistakes. It's alright if we make mistakes."

Fernando contemplated his words. The apocalypse hadn't been kind to Sergio - as, Fernando suspected, it hadn't to himself either. Their hair was dirty, tangled and their skin was weathered and sore, their faces tired and drawn tight. But there was something about that lack of glamour, that lack of beauty that made everything Sergio said and did so much more raw. Honest. Human.

"If it's alright with you, then it's alright with me." He agreed. "I can't speak for Xabi, though. He'll probably commit a double-homicide if we fuck up too much."

"I think we could take him."

Fernando shook his head solemnly. "He put me in a headlock the first time I ever broke one of his animal traps. I had a sore neck for a week." He sat up straight, forcing Sergio to adjust and roll on to his side. "We should head back. He'll be worried about where we are."

"You left him a message?"

"Yes, but he'll still fret. I would, if it was him." Fernando grasped around and grabbed the nearest article of clothing - Sergio's shirt - and shoved it at him. "C'mon, get dressed."

They were both decent again within ten minutes and had shrugged the bags packed with food supplies over their shoulders; Sergio had initially frowned at the weight of his before unzipping it and raising his eyebrow at the wine that Fernando had snuck in there. "Home is where the wine is," was all he'd said and Sergio had conceded.

Fernando poked his head out from the flap of the tent, trying desperately to pick out any movement in the darkness. It was as silent as it had been when they arrived.

He sniffed. "That smell is still there."

 Sergio joined him. "It's like....rubbish." He decided. "Like someone's burning a huge pile of rubbish."

"I can't hear a fire. It's silent out there; if there was a huge fire burning, we'd know." Fernando slipped out from between the flaps, almost tripping on a tent peg that had been hammered in to the cobbles. He waved Sergio out too and scanned across the Plaza Mayor. "We came from that direction." He made to move, but Sergio took hold of his wrist, pinning him in place.

"What's wrong?" Fernando asked, tensing himself for an ambush that didn't come. He followed Sergio's gaze - there was only the night. "Can you see something?"

"No, I just...." Sergio trailed off slowly, but his grip on Fernando's arm didn't ease up. With a quick pull, he had both himself and Fernando pressed up against the fabric of the food marquee. He began to edge his way around the side of the tent, keeping Fernando firmly anchored to him, moving with hesitant and cautious footsteps.

 _"Sergio, what are you doing?"_ Fernando hissed. His heart thumped against his ribcage with nerves and air was so quiet that he was sure it could be heard over the sound of their stuttering breath.

He was given no response - simply pulled along as Sergio side-stepped across the entire width of the marquee and then around the corner. He dragged him across the cobbles and to the adjacent tent, continuing with the bizarre routine of step and pull, step and pull, step and pull.

"Sergio, will you.... _quit it._ " Fernando tired of being on a leash and wriggled out of Sergio's fingers. "What's going on, do you think we're being followed?" He whispered.

Sergio turned to face him. "Can't you smell it?"

"Yes, the weird smell. What about it?"

"We're _in_ it." Sergio gestured helplessly in the dark space around them. "We're in a fog; smoke, steam, mist, I don't know. The air is thicker."

Fernando glanced behind him, as if the smoke was a physical substance that could tap him on the shoulder. "D'you think it's poisonous?"

"Well, I doubt the tents are air-tight; so we've been breathing it in for the past half hour." Sergio moved towards the nearest corner and squinted in the distance. "I think you were right."

"About what?"

"About it being a fire." He waved Fernando over. "Except, not a fire. A furnace." And he pointed.

Fernando's eyes travelled along Sergio's finger and beyond it, to a smouldering light that flickered less than thirty feet away. _Well,_ Fernando thought. _It wasn't flickering. It was blazing._ It was captured and controlled in a stone alcove that had been constructed rather shoddily and lying on the cobbled flooring of the square. The smell at such close range was almost suffocating.

Fernando took a step closer, bringing up the collar of his shirt to keep pressed against his nose and mouth. There was something - _somethings_ \- breaking up the flames. "Is that-?"

"Creakers? I think so." Sergio finished for him - perhaps to stop him from suggesting something more unbearable.

But this wasn't a time for sugar-coating. "Not...not people. It's not...people, is it? The people that lived here, that Raul kept."

"They'll be burning the Creakers that invaded; it's what I did whenever I killed one. Helps to stop the infection from spreading." Sergio reasoned, reaching out for Fernando's wrist again, softer this time. "What would Raul gain from..... _barbequing_ humans? He wants to rebuild society, remember."

"He eats them."

"What?"

Fernando turned to him. "The bodies. You said that the bodies were missing on the streets of Madrid. It's because Raul took them, Sergio. It's what they've been sustaining themselves on."

Sergio swallowed hard, choking back the words he'd been about to speak. His gaze slid back over towards the furnace and Fernando followed. He found himself analysing every intermittent, dark shape that was being swallowed up by the flames; an arm here, a foot there. It was impossible to tell whether it belonged to a Creaker or not.

"Fernando."

He was suddenly spun around and pinned in place, Sergio's fingers hard, almost desperate, through the material of his jacket. The flicker in Sergio's eyes was pleading. "We're going to leave, Fernando. Alright? You, me and Xabi. We'll pick him up and get our asses out of here, and we don't even think about this place again. We just go and we keep on going and we don't ever look back, not once. Yes?"

"But...but, Raul-"

"There isn't time for him, for personal vendettas. We just fucking survive, alright?"

It felt wrong in Fernando's mind; to turn their back on everything that Raul did, to pretend that it wasn't happening to begin with. Everything they'd been through, everything that people like Daniela and Lorena had been through, and it was _here_ that Fernando felt it should all be finished, it was _here_ that they played their final part in the apocalypse.

"My therapist once said that I let my anxiety define me," Fernando began, watching as Sergio's expression dissolved in to confusion. "I don't want it to anymore. I want something like this to define me. The choice that I make now; and we need to see this through."

Sergio shook his head desperately, his fingers tightening. "No, we don't. We don't owe anybody anything. I...." His voice caught, the words starting to choke him. "I already thought that you were dead once before, Fer, I can't....I just _can't._ " A shuddering breath. "You told me that you wanted to take this a day at a time; so let us have those days to figure this out, alright? Let us have that future."

"You told Raul that you were going to kill him."

"And I would, Fer, if I had half the chance! But I don't. We've no idea where he is, what he's doing, whether he's ten miles away or whether he's got a gun trained on our heads right now. We do not waste time on someone like him."

Fernando raised his hands to frame Sergio's face, shadows dancing across his skin from the furnace. He gave his cheek a small stroke. "This isn't about Raul, Sergio. God, he wants it to be, the self-proclaimed saviour of humanity. This is about everyone _but_ him; the people he's killed, the ones he's hurting now and the ones that he might harm in the months to come. We can't abandon them."

"You're wrong." Sergio said, but it was weak and Fernando knew he'd won. He could see it in the set of Sergio's shoulder and the defeat in his eyes.

"Then let me be wrong." He said. "Let me make this mistake."

Sergio dropped his gaze and nodded. Fernando pressed a kiss to his lips, and whispered; "Thank you." He took another look at the furnace - and the fire that was still blazing - and felt the fire in himself begin to spark too. "Let's go." He found Sergio's hand - lacing their cold fingers together - and took them back in the direction they'd come from, sticking close to the marquees. "Xabi will help us figure this out."

The silence seemed more overwhelming than it had before, settling like a blanket and they were being tucked in tighter and tighter with each step. Even though he knew that Sergio and he should be treading with a cautious foot and keeping an eye out, Fernando felt his pace quickening through the Plaza Mayor, almost certain they were being watched. He knew it was ridiculous; if they'd been spotted, they'd have been swarmed or shot down by now. But it felt like heavy gazes were resting on every inch of him.

He picked out the fire exit that they'd slipped out from earlier and made his way over to it, almost gasping in relief when his hands found the cold metal. It disappeared within seconds as one, sharp yank on the handle confirmed that the door - like most fire exits - couldn't be opened from the outside. He swore and tried again, even though he knew it was fruitless; cursing with every desperate pull. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck."_

"Alright, stop." Sergio stilled his hands. "We're going to have to find the main entrance."

They crept along the walls; Fernando wincing as his fingers found mould in between the crevasses of the bricks, the sensation far too similar to that of sinking his hands in to the soft, papery flesh of Creakers.

The main entrance felt far too exposed - as it had when they'd chosen the route of the fire exit instead - and neither of them dared moved out from the safety of the wall for several seconds, an unspoken agreement that this felt much too dangerous, much too stupid.

"Was the main entrance unlocked?" Sergio asked in a hushed voice.

Fernando tried to think back, racking his brain in desperation for a solution. "I don't know."

He felt Sergio take hold of his hand and place something cold and sharp in it, curling his fingers around it. "Take the knife." He whispered. "Use it to open the door, if it's locked. I'll watch your back."

With a nod, Fernando was moving; finding some sort of almighty will-power that overrode his survival instincts to step out in to the Plaza Mayor, knife in hand and approach the glass door. His shirt was soaked through with a cold sweat.

He'd managed one, two, maybe three steps when a light came on.

It wasn't a small light; not a torch or a lamp. No - it was giant, concert-style, red-carpet spotlight, pinning Fernando down in a circle of illumination that must have stretched two metres out in all directions.

He froze and raised his hands to his face instinctively, certain that he was about to be showered with bullets and knives and arrows and whatever mass of weapons Raul and his men had collected over the months.

 _Times up, Fernando. Don't be sad, you lasted a lot longer than you or anybody else thought, you tried your hardest, just pray that Sergio and Xabi still make it, and you can die, it's okay, you_ can die.

It took a while for him to realise that the spotlight was no longer on him. Peeking out from between his fingers, he noticed that he was shrouded in darkness again and the light was now directed against the building, several floors up

There was a small choke and then someone _was_ attacking him; forcing his arms to his sides, the knife clattering to the floor, and bending him over slightly, so that he had no option but to stare down at the floor.

"Just look down, Fernando, alright? Just look down, it's fine, the light isn't on us, just look down at the floor, nowhere else, at the floor." Sergio frantically spoke in his ear before he could cry out in panic, keeping him in position.

"Sergio, what's going on?" Fernando tried to look up towards the spotlight but Sergio was far stronger than he was. "Have they seen us, what's happening-?"

"Just keep looking at the floor, we're both fine, we're both alright. We're both fine, Fernando, just eyes on the floor."

"But the light was on me, they saw me, why aren't they doing anything-?"

"Fernando?"

A shiver ran down his spine as his name crackled out of a megaphone, bouncing off the contained buildings on the Plaza Mayor and echoing.

"Fernando?" It was Raul.

Sergio started to try and wrestle them towards the wall, but a second spotlight suddenly flickered on and pointed right at them. Fernando managed to crane his head upwards enough to see that they'd been surrounded, dark figures hovering on the edge of the spotlight circle. One came forward, a megaphone in one hand.

"Wow, Fernando." Raul chuckled lightly. "You almost pulled a fast one on us there. I mean, breaking down our barricades and distracting us with an infestation. That was pretty genius."

Fernando searched his eyes; there was no anger, or frustration at his humiliation, at the fact that three amateur survivalists had almost brought down his entire society. If anything, he was excited at the prospect, at the thought of a challenge.

"I'm guessing it wasn't your idea though," Raul continued. "It was his, right?" He pointed a finger up towards the building - towards the first spotlight.

Fernando continued to stare defiantly back at him, unable to look up even if he wanted to. So Raul had known where they were staying all along. "Lay a finger on Xabi, and I'll-"

He broke off as Raul and the others began to laugh; loud cackles ringing through the square. Sergio was ripped away from him suddenly and then Raul was on him, straightening him up with an unforgiving hand and clutching at his jaw with the other.

"You'll what?" He breathed in his ear, and forced Fernando's face up towards the building.

*

_It was like someone swept out a carpet from beneath his feet._

_*_

Xabi.

*

_No - it was like there were eighty layers of carpet under his feet and each one was getting pulled out in turn, leaving him in a limbo of freefalling through the air, his stomach lurching with a fresh wave of nausea each time._

*

A ragdoll.

*

_He was about to crumble - he could feel it, rising in him, threatening to suffocate him._

_*_

Strung from the window, like a puppet on strings. Put on display - just for Fernando.

*

_Gone._

*

He screamed. His lungs shattered and he screamed; loud enough to block out Raul's laughter, loud enough to block out the sound of his own blood roaring through his ears. He wasn't even sure if his blood _was_ roaring - it felt like it had stopped altogether.

He screamed and he collapsed.

All of the fight and resolve that had been building up in him for months, all the work that had gone in to overcoming his anxiety, everything that he'd done since fleeing Madrid as a cowardly, broken-hearted school teacher had abandoned him at one look at Xabi, hanging from the building.

He screamed and Raul shoved him to the ground; he hardly even noticed. He allowed the dirt and grit to scrape against his face and hands, simply sobbing on the ground, Raul and his men watching him in amusement.

*

_And, then I was on the floor. I think I was crying. Crying and screaming. Maybe it was the students who were screaming. I don't really remember._

_*_

"Shut him up." Raul eventually spoke. "He'll attract more of them."

Someone kicked him in the face. Fernando couldn't tell whether there was pain or not. He continued to sob, but they were quieter and muffled against his hands.

"And cut him down. We can use his body."

Fernando could only listen as footsteps tapped over the cobbled ground and in to the building. A couple of minutes passed - with only the harsh sound of breathing passing between them - before he heard a snap and a thud as something solid hit the ground, just several feet away.

He didn't dare look.

*

_An awful few seconds passed as Xabi's body dropped through the air like a rag doll and Fernando wondered whether the impact would just cause his body to tear straight through the mattress. But there was a soft thump as Xabi's body landed on the cushion and he exhaled in relief._

_*_

"As for this one," Raul's voice sounded almost bored now - as if the interesting part was over. "He's proven too much of a liability; not worth the trouble. Take care of him."

Fernando waited for the blow to come - welcomed it, even. Welcomed the thought of losing everything, himself, forever.

But a blow never came; a yelp did, though, and Fernando glanced up with realisation as Sergio was shoved to the ground, hands held behind him. Someone had a firm grip on the back of his head and there was only time for a sharp _'no'_ to escape Fernando's lips before Sergio's head was smashed against the ground.

Again, and again, and again.

There was a sickening crunch with each impact and Fernando wondered why they didn't just use a bullet, why they didn't do it cleanly or quickly, why it had to be so violent and inhumane. He sought out a gun that was sitting in a holster on Raul's waist and - for a split second - debated whether he could reach it.

Whether he could shoot Sergio and then himself. And finish it.

He pushed himself up on to weak hands and knees and started to crawl towards Sergio, deciding that if he was going to die then he was going to hold Sergio's hand and hope that he was dragged down with him.

There was no time though, as a sharp whistle cracked through the air and the man who'd put Sergio within an inch of his life was sent staggering backwards, collapsing on the ground. Blood began to seep out in between the cobbles.

Raul turned around with a sharp intake of breath. "What the-"

Another bullet came, missing Raul and ricocheting off the nearest wall and hitting another one of his men in the legs. They cried out and dropped their gun.

Fernando looked up to see that the men who had surrounded him and Sergio, were now surrounded themselves. Men and women were all huddled together in flimsy pyjamas, shivering and holding an entire armouries worth of weapons.

"What the fuck is going on?" Raul breathed out, his hand dropping to his gun instinctively. "Get back to the sleeping quarters!"

There was no verbal answer; only another shot and another one of Raul's men fell. Fernando covered the last few feet to Sergio's unconscious body, curling over it to protect him from any stray bullets. He felt sick at the blood that had congealed Sergio's face.

*

_Somehow, the soft glow of the oil lamp that illuminated the bedroom made Sergio look worse than he had down on the riverbank. Fernando handed the first-aid kit over to Xabi with trembling fingers, his eyes scanning the dark blue and purple blemishes that littered Sergio's skin like ink and the matted blood caught in his hair and clothes._

*

"This is a security violation, get back to the sleeping quarters!" Raul demanded again but nobody moved. They just stood, defiant.

And then all hell broke loose.

One of Raul's men shot a woman clean in the head and that was the trigger needed. Bullets began to shoot through the air like fireworks, met with shouts and cries and screams of pain. Fernando kept himself low to the ground, burying his face in Sergio's hair and telling him that everything was alright, that everything would be fine, even though he knew Sergio couldn't hear him.

With a small kiss to Sergio's temple, he picked out the crumpled body of his best friend, sat several metres away. Nobody paid him any attention as he moved over to Xabi - the fight that had exploded around him almost unnoticed by himself - and touched the back of his hand to his cold cheek.

 _"I'm so fucking sorry."_ He whispered desperately, trying to sit his body up in a more dignified position and loosening the rope around his neck, before ripping it off completely with a sob.  _"God, I'm so sorry, Xabi. I'm so sorry!"_

*

 _It was all his fault. He could've saved Xabi; he_ should've _saved Xabi because Xabi would've saved him._

_*_

"I'm going to live for you, I fucking swear. _You'll be_ my _reason to live, alright? Alright?"_ He shook Xabi, almost furiously, as if expecting him to answer, to acknowledge what he was saying. There was a sharp scream and Fernando turned, somehow managing to pick out Raul in the chaos of the square, pounding his fists in to a limp figure on the ground.

There had been no fight in him before. There was now.

Fight, and fire, and fury.

There was no thought process, no survival instinct - there was just the knife and Fernando's hand clasping around it, his gaze fixed only Raul. This was going to be his last mistake.

He was accompanied by a symphony of screams and shots as he approached Raul slowly, oblivious to the bullets that whistled centimetres away from him, almost carving out a path for him.

Part of him expected a huge struggle; one of those epic, final battle scenes in the computer games he'd played as a child. He thought Raul - saviour of the human race, the crème de la crème of natural selection - would go down with a fight.

But there was no fight, no Hollywood-style drama. No hesitation or internal moral conflict over killing another human. He simply shoved Raul to the ground, rolled him over and dug the knife in to his chest.

Raul arched his back grotesquely on the floor, blood splattering out from his mouth when he tried to scream. Fernando just pushed the knife in further, as deep as it would go, until only the handle protruded. Raul thrashed desperately, his hands flailing for the knife but Fernando yanked it out before he could get a grip on it, only to drive it in again.

Each stab felt purposeful and deliberate.

_That one's for Lorena._

_That one's for Daniela._

He was already dead. Fernando didn't stop.

_That one's for Xabi._

_That one's for Sergio._

There were tears cascading down Fernando's face and he was shaking with repressed sobs, but he couldn't find a way to stop, he couldn't find anything to outweigh the fight and the fire and the fury.

_This one is for me. So is this one, and this one, and this one, and this one too._

He collapsed, exhausted, on to the ground next to Raul; splayed out and staring at the sky. There were bright lights, and a sudden gust of wind whipping the hair around his face. A whirring noise filled his ears, increasing in volume and Fernando didn't care what it was; he felt the darkness creep up his body and welcomed it, welcomed the silence that would surely come with it, the silence that had unnerved him all night and now, he allowed it to take him, finally.

He closed his eyes.

*

_He believed that three hundred was going to be monumental._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two to go.....


	29. 29/11/2015

_“Fernando?”_

_Fernando winced when his name was called. It echoed off the confined walls of the waiting room and he felt every pair of eyes turn to him. He glanced up to see the receptionist waving him over._

_With trembling legs, he stood up and approached the desk, a small slip of paper clutched in his hands._

_“Dr. Di Matteo is ready for you now, Fernando.” The receptionist took his slip of paper and pressed a small stamp to it. It read_ ‘session attended’. _“He’s the first door on your left.”_

_Fernando supposed that was his cue to leave but he was frightened his name might be called out again if he was wrong, so decided not to move at all, fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt. He was glad to be standing, and not sitting down in the compact seating area. Having four other people in the room was far too claustrophobic for him and he’d deliberately picked a chair that was a safe distance from anybody else; a plan ruined when another person had arrived and taken the seat right next to him. He’d wanted to cry, then._

_The receptionist noticed he was still standing in from of the desk expectantly and pointed down the corridor with her pen. “The first door on your left, Fernando.” She said. “He’s waiting for you.”_

_Fernando ducked his head and followed her instructions, uncomfortable and paranoid that everyone was watching him. He felt their gazes like two sacks of flour on both his shoulders, weighing him down._

_He gave a feeble knock on the door that had been indicated, half-hoping that Dr. Di Matteo wouldn’t hear and he’d be able to stand outside the door – solitary – for his entire session. It was wishful thinking. The door opened, to reveal a man dressed in a too-big shirt and scuffed loafers. His tie was loose around his neck and his jacket had been rolled up to his elbows. He didn’t look like the white-coated, probing psychiatrists that Fernando had heard about._

_“Hello, Fernando.” Dr. Di Matteo held out his hand. Fernando decided that he had no choice but to take it. “It’s nice to meet you.”_

_He held open the door for Fernando to enter and Fernando did, pressing against the frame to make sure that there was enough distance between himself and Dr. Di Matteo. The office was small and coloured in browns and maroons; small plants decorated the windowsill and an assortment of personal photographs littered the desk._

_“You’ll have to excuse my Spanish.” Dr. Di Matteo said as he closed the door behind Fernando and led him to a plush chair that faced the desk. “I’m still learning. Maybe you can help teach me.”_

_Fernando didn’t respond; he sat down in the chair and knotted his hands together, hoping that Dr. Di Matteo was going to sit on the opposite side of the desk and not right next to him._

_He watched with relief as the psychiatrist scooted around the edge of the desk and plonked himself down in the chair, pulling out an empty folder and scribbling across it. He held it up for Fernando to see when he’d done. “See? This is yours, Fernando. An empty folder. A clean slate.”_

_Fernando didn’t feel like a clean slate. He felt like a huge, broken mess of a rock._

_“I know it’s strange, Fernando,” Dr. Di Matteo began as he made a few notes on a fresh piece of paper. “To be forced to talk to a stranger just because we’re_ qualified – _whatever that means. I understand that you’ve only recently been diagnosed. You haven’t had a therapist before?”_

_When he looked up, Fernando nodded._

_“Would you mind if I asked you some questions? Nothing too personal, I promise. I’ve read about you on paper, but it’s not the same as discussing it with you in person. Is that alright?”_

_Again, Fernando nodded._

_“How old are you?”_

_“Fourteen.”_

_“And how long have you been in care for?”_

_Fernando looked down at his lap. “I don’t know. A long time.”_

_“Do you remember your parents?”_

_Fernando winced. “That’s a personal question.” He whispered._

_Dr. Di Matteo put down his pen. “Is it? Then, I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it. We don’t have to talk at all, if you don’t want to. I have some games we could play instead.” He opened a draw. “Do you like Monopoly?”_

_Fernando shook his head. “I didn’t….I didn’t mean that I couldn’t talk about it. I just haven’t…” He unknotted his hands, and then knotted them again. “I just never have before.”_

_“I know.” Dr. Di Matteo said softly. “Would you like to talk about it?”_

_There was a certain sincerity and professionalism in his voice that was at odds against his fumbling, school librarian appearance. Fernando took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”_

_“That’s alright.” Dr. Di Matteo made another scribble. “Would you like to talk about your anxiety?”_

_His chest tightened. He shook his head._

_“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to play monopoly?”_

_Fernando hid his hands inside his sleeves and looked up at the psychiatrist. “Can I be the race-car?”_

_Dr. Di Matteo smiled and nodded._

_When their session was over – and Fernando had managed to acquire a large amount of property and money – Dr. Di Matteo reached inside his drawer and brought out a book. It was leather-bound and clasped together with a small buckle. Fernando watched as he placed it on the desk and pushed it towards him._

_“My sister gave this to me for Christmas.” Dr. Di Matteo began, unclasping the book. “I don’t know, maybe she thought that all psychiatrists do is write dream logs or something. I’m not sure I have a use for it though. Would you like it?”_

_Fernando stared at him._

_“You said you’d never spoken about your life before. Well, how about you write about it instead? If there’s something on your mind or you’re too nervous to tell me something, write it down.” He tapped his finger against the first, blank page. “A clean slate, Fernando.” He took a pen and wrote in the top corner of the first page. It read_ ‘day one’. _“Why don’t you go home and write something about your parents? Anything you like. And, if you’re comfortable, I could read it at our next session. You wouldn’t have to say a word.”_

_He nudged it closer towards Fernando who, with a cautious hand, took the book. He ran his thumb over the number one that Dr. Di Matteo had written. The first day. He glanced up at him. “Okay.” He said, quietly._

_It was how he and Dr. Di Matteo communicated for almost a year. Fernando would write down something in his book and his therapist would read it and, sometimes, they’d have a small talk about it too. No questions or prompts, just a discussion. Eventually, Fernando didn’t need to use the book as a stepping stone between them. He could bring up a new conversation in person – could discuss things he wasn’t sure he’d even thought about before, let alone had the nerves to speak._

_He kept the book, though. He kept writing in it. His therapist told him it could be a journal. So, that’s what he used it as. Whenever Dr. Di Matteo wasn’t available, Fernando would write about things that made him feel unsafe, or uncomfortable, or anxious. But it became less and less necessary._

_At nineteen, he put the journal away for good. Tucked it away in his shelf, and told himself that if he ever needed it again, he knew where to find it._

_It wasn’t pulled out again until a Thursday evening, six years later; when a Sevillan walked in to his classroom - and bulldozed in to his life._

_*_

There was something sharp pressing against Fernando’s eyelids.

He didn’t want to succumb to the sensation, and open his eyes. He didn’t want to leave the darkness; he was enjoying the safety and protection of it, how he was allowed to be ignorant and naïve under its cover. There was no urge inside him to face apocalypse-stricken Madrid again.

 _Think of nice things,_ his mind coaxed him. _Think of nice, warm, fuzzy things._

_Bunnies and kittens and babies and puppies._

Fernando had never liked dogs; their erratic behaviour made him nervous. He didn’t like things he couldn’t predict, that acted in ways he didn’t anticipate or expect.

_Bunnies and kittens and babies and flowers._

He had hay fever.

_Bunnies and kittens and babies and…chocolate._

It was all a weak attempt to delay the inevitable. Fernando knew he couldn’t hide in the darkness forever and he had to accept how much of himself he’d lost; nobody who’d done what he’d done to Raul could be considered to have any humanity left.

Opening his eyes felt like ripping apart skin that had been stitched tightly together. He blinked blearily up at a sharp, painful whiteness that forced itself through his vision. There was something soft against his back and a small pinch in his hand. His muscles held that kind of ache that came from disuse and immobility.

A small groan slipped from between his lips as he twisted his head to the side and his unfocused gaze managed to capture the sight of a long tube extending from his left hand and snaking up towards the ceiling.

He was in a room. A white, bright room that hurt his eyes.

And he was on a bed.

And that was about all his head could manage at the minute, so he closed his eyes again, giving it a minute to process those small, minute details.

“Fernando?”

His eyes snapped open in an instant at the sound of his name. There was a figure hovering over him that he could just make out through the haze of his vision, a dark shadow against the white. “I’m sorry to startle you.” They said, in badly-accented Spanish.

Fernando pushed himself up on to his elbows, the room becoming more distinguishable in a less horizontal position. He was on a bed, clad with pillows and blankets, and there was a drip attached to his hand and wired up to a machine that sat next to him. He appeared to be in a makeshift hospital bed, tucked away in small room. There was a window opposite him that had been opened, a light breeze and sunshine filtering inside.

You’re dreaming. _You’re dreaming._

“Don’t hurt yourself.” The person above him said, and he glanced up to see a woman stood next to his bed. Her hair was pinned back in a tight bun and dressed in clean clothes. Fernando couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen someone look so pristine and unscathed. “Forgive me; do you speak English?”

Fernando pinched himself on the arm, just to be sure. If anything, the view in front of him became sharper and more definite.

“A little.” His voice was rough and cracked. The woman pointed to a glass on a table next to him.

“Water.” She said.

He eyed it suspiciously.

“It’s clean.” The woman confirmed. “There’s some paracetamol too. We’re weaning you off, but you might need a small dosage still.”

She translated her last statement well enough for Fernando to understand, but he ignored both the pill and water. “Where am I?”

The woman pulled out a chair and sat herself down in it. “Give yourself a minute. You’ve gone through quite an ordeal, we don’t want to overwhelm you-”

“Where am I?” He repeated, almost choking against the dryness in his throat. He glanced around the empty room. “Where’s everyone else? Where’s Sergio-”

The woman held out the water for him. “Please. Drink it?” She asked, and Fernando knew he wouldn’t be able to continue demanding answers if he lost his voice. He took the water and allowed it to slide down his throat, smooth and cold against the rawness.

She placed the glass back on the side once he’d finished. “You came to us in a bad state, Fernando. You were very dehydrated and badly injured; it’s taken almost two weeks for us to rouse you. It’s almost as if you didn’t want to wake up.” She added.

Fernando only understood half of her comment, and instead asked; “How do you know my name?”

She shifted her chair closer to his bed and brought out a clipboard. “We really should start at the beginning.” She said and fiddled around with a selection of papers and files that were stapled to the clipboard. Fernando tried to sit further up, wincing at the stiffness in his back. The open window made him nervous – such a lack of security seemed bizarre in a post-apocalyptic world.

“My name is Annaliese.” The woman began, clearly chewing over her translations. “I’m a scientist at the International Water Research Centre at the University of New South Wales-”

Fernando rubbed his temples slightly, and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t care.” He didn’t want to be rude, but this all seemed like irrelevant information. “Where am I? And where’s Sergio?”

“New South Wales.” The woman – Annaliese – said. “That’s where you are, Fernando.”

He rubbed his temples harder. “New South Wales? But that’s-”

“Australia.” Annaliese confirmed.

_He was definitely dreaming._

“I…I was in Madrid. Madrid, _Spain._ With my friend. Where is he?”

Annaliese gave him a sheet of paper, which had a map on it. There was a big, red cross over every continent – except Australasia. “Please, let us talk to you. Your friend is fine, he told us about you. You used to be a teacher, is that right?”

Again, this all felt irrelevant. Yes, he used to be a teacher. He also used to be unable to stand in a room with more than two people. He used to be a person with a record cleaner than detergent – he’d _killed_ since then. “Sergio’s alright? Where is he? I need to talk to him, I need to tell him about Raul-”

“Fernando, you’re still recovering. Please.” Annaliese kept a surprisingly strong hand against his shoulder. “And your friend is still recovering too. Just let me explain.”

He eyed the hand on his shoulder, but didn’t remove it. Instead, he allowed Annaliese to plump up the pillow behind his back and adjust it so that he could sit up straighter. Annaliese refilled his glass, and handed it to him. “I’m a scientist, as I said. The WRC is – _was_ – the leading institute for water research in the world. We also don’t source our water from the Arctic, as most of the Northern Hemisphere does. That’s where the infection originated.” She handed him another couple of sheets, with data and figures and graph littering them. Fernando ignored them.

“Of course, water is as water does; the infection reached us eventually. But we were prepared for it. We haven’t had an infected person recorded in the whole of South Australia for five months. We’re _safe_ , Fernando.” This time, he looked at the papers that she gave him. They were photographs, of suburban streets and cafés and shops and people – ordinary people – living and breathing, exactly as they had before any of this had happened.

“I don’t understand.”

“Is the English too advanced-?”

Fernando shook his head. “No, I…I just don’t understand. This whole time, you’ve just…. _watched_ as the world fell apart? You’ve been safe this whole time, while people have been dying?” He didn’t mean to sound so accusatory, but it was exactly how it came out.

Annaliese didn’t seem fazed by the tone in his voice. “How do you think you got here, Fernando? We have a dedicated group of people who search for survivors; they’re all either ex-army, or military, or just people with a good conscious. It took some time to get a programme going; we had to fly out and build stationary bases, that could keep planes and helicopters. We didn’t fly directly from New South Wales to Madrid, you see – we stopped off along the way. Three times, actually. It’s too far for one flight. And Jed – he was the one who found you – well, he told us that they’d already scoured Madrid and were heading up towards Montpellier. Only doubled-back because they detected all the smoke that was coming from the centre of the city.”

Fernando thought about the whirring he’d heard before he’d blacked out; the lights and the wind.

“There were a lot who were dead.” Annaliese continued in a soft voice. “But we saved who we could. Were they….was it your community?”

“No.” Fernando wanted to hate Annaliese in that moment; he wanted this hate this Australian community for being safe while people like Daniella and Xabi had suffered. He wanted to hate them for being mere minutes too late to save his best friend. But he looked at the pictures again – and at Annaliese’s sympathetic face – and he just couldn’t. He couldn’t hate the first person who’d wanted to _help_ him in almost two years. “Did you take any of the bodies?"

"The bodies?"

"Those who were dead? Did you save the bodies?" Fernando thought about Xabi being left in Madrid, all alone. Just a decaying figure in a decaying city. "We should bury them, properly-"

Annaliese shook her head. "There's only space for the living, Fernando. I'm sorry."

Nausea crept up his throat and only the realisation that Annaliese would call for medical help and no other questions would be answered if he threw up kept it down. "What for? You didn't know them."

There was another sympathetic look. "You were unconscious when Jed found you. Exhaustion, we think. If your progress is maintained overnight, you should be discharged tomorrow afternoon. We’ve already assigned you a home, in Port Macquarie. And then we can start helping you settle in to the community.”

Fernando glanced over at the paracetamol – and took it this time. He washed it down with the water. “You’re just going to let me in?” He asked. When Annaliese nodded, he added; “You don’t know anything about me? I could be dangerous.”

He was actively sabotaging his entry in to this supposed safe, prosperous community and he knew it; and it didn’t stop him. Xabi had told him that he was a good person, the kind of person that needed saving in this new world; what if he wasn’t that person anymore? What if Xabi looked upon him now – and didn’t even recognise him?

“We aren’t ignorant to the outside world, Fernando. We know the means that people must have gone to for survival. That doesn’t mean that we believe those people aren’t worth saving.”

Fernando looked again at the pictures. He couldn’t decide whether the normality of their contents made him want to cry with relief or sadness. In the end, no tears fell at all.

“We’ll bring you some food, if you feel well enough?” Annaliese told him, standing up from the chair. “And then you should rest.”

“Can I see Sergio? Please?”

Annaliese nodded. “I’ll let him know you’re awake. He’s been waiting.”

She exited the room. Before the door even closed, Fernando had ripped the drip out of his hand and was over at the window, slamming it shut. He pulled the curtains too. It made him too anxious and exposed; he couldn’t help but feel that a Creaker might claw its way through. Or another person.

And really, he’d learned that it was the latter that terrified him more.


	30. 30/11/2015

EPILOGUE

Fernando was discharged the next afternoon.

He was armed with a map of Port Macquarie and an address, and that was it.

And Sergio, of course. Fernando had winced when Sergio had come to visit him the previous day; the right-side of his face had bruising that would take weeks to fade, Annaliese had told him. But he should count himself lucky that he’d suffered no brain damage.

_Lucky._

Fernando had heard enough of that word to last a lifetime.

Sergio had told him that he was sorry about Xabi. Fernando had just shrugged; he was pretty fed up of that word too. He told Sergio what he’d done to Raul. Sergio didn’t say anything at all.

They were loaded on to a coach that journeyed up north, towards Port Macquarie. Fernando spent the whole time staring out of the window, wondering whether the people they drove past understood what life was like outside of this small, bubble of ignorance. He wanted them to; he wanted them to hate themselves.

Port Macquarie was a pleasant, coastal town that had probably thrived in the tourism season. Both Sergio and he were dropped off outside a small, detached house built out of pale, yellow brick. It felt strange to have no luggage – no belongings. There was a small porch at the front that gave a panoramic view of the ocean. Fernando decided that he wouldn’t be looking out at that scene anytime soon.

The style of the house itself was nice enough, though unfamiliar to two men who’d lived their entire lives in Spain. Far nicer than anything Fernando could have imagined he’d live in after the infection.

There were two bedrooms, and their seemed to be a silent agreement between both Sergio and he that it was a better option, for now. It wasn’t even dark yet, but Fernando refused Sergio’s offer of food and escaped upstairs to his own bedroom. He took a long shower first – revelling in the concept of hot, running water – and then stripped off, lying down in bed and staring at the ceiling.

He managed to last until midnight before he had to push the dresser up against the door; too many memories swamping his mind to sleep with no means of defence at all.

*

He managed to last until the end of the week before he gave up sleeping on his own and crept over to Sergio’s room, giving a sheepish knock on the door. He realised that he was nothing except relieved that Sergio hadn’t been able to sleep on his own either. There were no words spoken, just another silent agreement as Sergio lifted up the covers for him.

Sleep came a little easier that night.

*

Neither of them knew what to do during the day. It was like they’d both forgotten how they’d lived before the infection. Sergio would often cook, while Fernando loitered around in the house or garden. He hadn’t gathered up the courage to venture outside the house yet.

Sergio went out once, and bought him a book. It was blank.

“It can be your new journal,” He’d suggested. “I won’t read it this time, I promise.”

Fernando shrugged and accepted it.

*

Annaliese drove up to Port Macquarie the following weekend, to see how they were settling in.

“I see you’re eating well,” She smiled, as she took in the mountainous supply of baking that Sergio had been doing. Fernando suspected that he found it therapeutic. “We have a couple of jobs for you both, if you’re interested?”

They wanted Sergio to be the photographer for a small editorial that was running in Port Macquarie. “It’ll mainly be landscapes and scenery.”

“He doesn’t photograph landscapes.” Fernando had said. He wasn’t sure why he was being so rude.

Annaliese just smiled again. “It’s never too late to learn.”

She wanted him to teach at the small, community school that ran for three days a week and had less than thirty students. “You’re one of only qualified teachers we’ve found.” She’d said.

Fernando said he’d think about it.

“There’s a barbeque at the park tomorrow.” Annaliese mentioned as she left. “You should both go, meet some neighbours.”

Fernando had a rejection on the tip of his tongue, but Sergio was quicker.

“That’d be nice.”

*

The barbeque was horrible.

Neither Sergio nor he could communicate with half of the people there; they’d just shrug and apologise when someone asked them questions in English. Fernando found that he couldn’t stand the smell of the meat, or watch as it was cooked on a furnace. And he found he couldn’t stand all the women in their summer dresses, and children laughing in the playground; he couldn’t stand the normality of it all.

He walked off after only half an hour, and was quickly caught up by Sergio.

“Where’re you going?” He asked, catching on to his arm.

“Home.”

“Why?”

“I just can’t do this, Sergio!” He shouted, spinning around. “I can’t be here and pretend that everything is normal, that everything is fine! I can’t pretend that I don’t know what happens outside of this place! I can’t just sit here and have… and have stupid barbeques and forget about everyone still out there, and-”

Sergio shushed him with a hug and Fernando sobbed against his shoulder.

“It’s not about forgetting,” He said, once Fernando had calmed down. “It’s about living. You live, because they can’t. You told me that, remember?”

Fernando didn’t even remember himself anymore.

*

He took up Annaliese’s offer of teaching – after some hefty pestering from Sergio – and went to the school.

It was in a converted church that sat on the outskirts of Port Macquarie. All the children stared at him as he walked in, clutching a battered copy of ‘ _Lord of the Flies’_ to his chest.

He wrote his name up on the board. “Does anybody speak Spanish?” He’d asked in English at the beginning.

No hands went up.

*

One week, he asked Sergio if he’d draw a picture of Xabi for him. He had no photographs or images – nothing to prevent him from forgetting the exact shade of his hair or the creases around his eyes when he laughed. And Sergio was a far better artist than he was.

Sergio gave him a strange look, and said that he didn’t want to be morbid and draw pictures of dead people. Fernando shouted at him and hid inside his room for the rest of the day. He tried to prove how mad he was by refusing to sleep in Sergio’s bed that night, and the night after.

When he got back from school on the third day, he found a sketch of Xabi had been left on his bed. It had been etched on to expensive canvas and even washed over in soft watercolours – Fernando wasn’t even sure how he’d managed to acquire the materials. He didn’t know how to say thank you, so he settled for sneaking in to Sergio’s room that night once he knew the other man was asleep, and wrapping around him, pressing grateful and apologetic kisses to the back of his neck.

He knew he’d been forgiven when he woke up to find Sergio holding his hand.

*

He started writing in his journal.

It was hard, at first. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, and he ended up ripping out the first few pages when he wasn’t satisfied with them. He thought he wanted to write about the infection but discovered that he wasn’t quite ready, not yet.

He went to Sergio, who was cooking, and asked him whether he’d write in the journal with him.

“Why?” Sergio queried, eyeing him curiously.

Fernando shrugged. “Well, maybe it could be ours. Instead of just mine.”

Sergio was also damaged, Fernando knew. It was a mountain they both had to climb, and Fernando wasn’t sure why he’d been trying to do it alone for so long.

“Alright.” Sergio quirked a smile and pointed to a pan that was bubbling away. “D’you want to help me cook?”

Fernando nodded, and smiled too.

*

It took a while, but Fernando found himself beginning to settle.

Things at the school improved, once he’d learnt all the student’s names and picked up a little more English. He managed to recall some of his old lesson plans that had gone down well with his students in Madrid, and started planning them out for his new students. One of the girls told him that he was her favourite teacher.

It took even longer, but eventually he realised that he wanted normality for these students. He didn’t want them to ever know what life was like outside.

He’d spend his evenings marking their work, or attending an adult English class with Sergio. If neither of them had any work, they’d rent out a movie and watch it with popcorn, or they’d write and draw in the journal together.

He had a routine again.

*

“Do you think what I did to Raul was wrong?” Fernando asked Sergio, one Saturday. They were sitting out in the garden in deckchairs; Sergio was reading the latest Port Macquarie editorial and Fernando was planning his next lesson.

Sergio turned to look at him. Fernando couldn’t quite figure out his expression through his sunglasses. “Do you?”

He looked at the bruising on Sergio’s face – which had healed well, but was still noticeable. He wondered whether Raul’s face looked similar. “Yes.” He said. “I didn’t think I was capable of doing something like that.”

Sergio put the newspaper down. “You survived, Fernando. Did you think you were capable of that, too?”

Fernando shook his head.

“I’ve done things I’m not proud of too; a fair number of them were before the infection.” Sergio said. Fernando didn’t have to probe to know he was talking about him. “But were you wrong to do it? I don’t know.”

“It wasn’t the… _doing_ it. It was _how_ I did it.” Fernando shivered at the memory. “There was nothing human about it.”

Sergio indicated for Fernando to move over on his deckchair and squashed up next to him. He ran his fingers through Fernando’s hair in long, soft strokes; Fernando rested his head against his neck. “I’m scared.” He whispered.

“Of what?”

“Myself.”

Fernando could hear the smile in Sergio’s voice when he spoke. “Might you go all _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ on me?”

Fernando nodded, even though he knew it was a joke. “I’m scared that I lost myself.”

“Then I’ll help find you again.”

*

One of their neighbours helped them to make a tombstone for Xabi. It was only small and the engraving wasn’t particularly neat, but it loosened a knot in Fernando’s chest that he hadn’t even realised was there.

They were allowed to place it in the local cemetery without the body. Fernando decided to put together a box with things he knew Xabi liked; a copy of _Homage to Catalonia_ that he’d sourced from a local bookshop, a small bundle of water lilies and, after thinking about it, the picture that Sergio had drawn for him. He didn’t have any pictures or knowledge of Xabi’s family, so he settled for writing down their names on a piece of paper and tucking it in the box too. He buried it just in front of the tombstone.

He cried. He thought they’d be out of sadness; but they were happy.

*

The next barbeque was better than the last.

Annaliese came up to Port Macquarie to check in on them, and nudged Fernando with her elbow as he helped himself to a burger.

“I’ve heard a lot of good things about you from the school.” She said. Her hair was down this time, instead of up in a tight bun. She looked younger. “The children are particularly interested in the Spanish music you play to them.”

Fernando had managed to seek out an old _El Canto Del Loco_ record from a shop down in Canberra, when Sergio and he had gone down on a weekend trip together.

“It stimulates the mind.” Fernando said wisely, and Annaliese just smiled.

“You’re going to have a new student.” At Fernando’s questioning look, she added; “A girl. She was found in Argentina. Alone.”

Fernando winced. “No parents?”

“No.”

He nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

*

Her name was Maria and Fernando recognised her immediately.

The drawn, blank look in her face; the suffering in her gaze; the hopelessness of her stance; he recognised it completely.

“Maria?” He asked her.

She looked up at him.

“Do you speak Spanish?”

She nodded.

*

One night, Fernando decided to apologise.

“I’m sorry.”

They were lying in bed, and Sergio had been drawing small patterns on his chest with soft finger. He pushed the sweaty hair out of Fernando’s face. “You’re sorry?”

Fernando took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for never telling you about my anxiety,” He said quietly. “I’m sorry that I allowed it to make our relationship so difficult. And I’m sorry that I ran away from Madrid; you deserved better than that.” Before Sergio could say anything, Fernando added; “And don’t tell me that I have nothing to apologise for or that I wasn’t in the wrong, or anything like that. Just…accept the apology. Please.”

Sergio placed a kiss against his cheek and nodded. “Alright. Apology accepted.”

They lay in silence for several minutes, just watching each other breathe and leaning in for a kiss every now and then, until Fernando said; “Sergio?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to get dinner sometime?”

Sergio smirked and erased the small distance between them, spreading Fernando out across the sheets. “It’s a date, sex kitten.”

*

“I like your stickers.”

Fernando glanced up with a smile as Maria stroked her hand over a sticker than Fernando had placed on her latest work. The school day had finished several minutes ago, but Maria had taken to hanging around afterwards. Her English wasn’t very good, and Fernando was one of the only people she could talk to. Her improvement over the weeks had been astounding, really.

“Would you like another one?”

“But I haven’t done any extra work?”

Fernando ripped off a small strip of stickers carefully. “You’ll have done things that no person your age – or any age – should ever have to do, and you deserve more than just stickers for that.” He pressed the strip in to her hand. “I knew another girl who liked my stickers too. I think she’d like knowing that they were still admired.”

“Was she your daughter?”

“No.” He still didn’t think about Daniela too much; Sergio had a tombstone for her next to Xabi’s, and Fernando knew he would walk past it on his way to the printing office each morning. “She was special, though.”

Maria hoisted her bag over her shoulder. “I had a special sister.” She said, and Fernando ignored the waver in her voice. He knew she wouldn’t want to be pitied. “She was a lot older; there was nine years between us. She was my mum, sometimes. And she’d take me out for ice-cream on Sunday mornings. It was nice.”

Fernando held the door to the converted church open for her; “I could take you out for ice-cream, if you wanted? I know a good place near the cinema.”

Maria smiled up at him, and Fernando wasn’t sure he could remember the last time he’d seen a smile that was so devoid of anything other than joy. “I’d like that.”

*

When Annaliese next visited them, Fernando spoke to her about Maria.

“You want to take her in?” Annaliese had asked, surprised.

“No. The time isn’t right.” Fernando had discussed Maria a few times with Sergio, and they’d both agreed that it was too soon. They were still learning how to live again themselves. “But, I want the time to be right. One day.”

There’d been a time when Fernando had thought he’d never have children; how could he look after another person when he couldn’t look after himself? How could he expose a child to the unpredictability of his anxiety-issues? He knew now that those days were past him, and that he was prepared to give Maria a real home, if she wanted it.

When the time was right.

*

Fernando never stopped forgetting that they weren’t safe. Not really.

The outside world was still there, it still existed; and it could catch up with them at any moment. But it was that thought that made him keep going.

Everything he had could be ripped away in a second – he’d seen and felt the grief of that before – and he knew that he had to take every moment between now and that time with both hands. He had to make every minute worth all the pain and suffering.

When Sergio and he reached the three hundredth day in their journal, Fernando decided to write that three hundred was going to be monumental.

But he was going to make sure every other day was too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terminado! 
> 
> Alright then. I can't believe I've finished this. 'And Tomorrow Will Be Ours' is the first complete writing that I've ever had the motivation to finish before, and I'm typing this a little stunned, actually. 
> 
> Okay, okay; so I didn't finish this in November (oopsies). It took quite a lot longer, in fact. But I'm glad that I set myself the challenge, because I got up to the 25th chapter, I believe, before it all started to fall apart. And the fact that I'd got so far with it meant that I just couldn't abandon it, even several months afterwards. It was a really worthwhile challenge in the end. 
> 
> A huge part of that motivation was all the amazing comments that people kept leaving me and I'm so surprised at how much positive feedback this has got. The majority of the chapters were written in about a day and only the basic plotline was planned at the beginning, so there is a lot that I'll need to edit in the future, but I'm so glad that so many people still enjoyed it! And I am so grateful to the people that have commented and helped push me through this, because honestly, you're the main reason I got this finished. 
> 
> I'll be sad to leave these characters behind, but I think I've left them in a better place than when we started. And I'm also super excited about my other pieces of writing that I have planned for the future and I look forward to sharing them with you too.
> 
> A huuuuuge hug and kiss for everyone that has read this. I think we're all looking forward to some real-life sernando in Milan, two weeks from now! (although the characters in ATWBO are fictional and I am in no way suggesting that Sergio calls Fernando his sex kitten in real life)...(late disclaimer)...
> 
> Sending my love.


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